One Perfect Something
by Roslyn Drycof
Summary: Harry finds a spell that will allow him to have one day with no consequences because no one will remember it, including him. But things happen that he could never have predicted. Does he really want to forget after all is said and done? HPDM, 6th, no HBP
1. I'll Be Just Fine

Author's Note: HBP does not exist in this story. I refuse, at the moment, to write any story with HBP involved. That may change, but currently, my mind refuses to accept that continuance of the Harry Potter books. So please enjoy a nice, AU story set during Harry's sixth year.

Warning: Themes of angst, moderate slash, swearing, etc.

Pairing: The only pairing I ever do, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A few sub-pairings of Ron/Hermione, attempted Ginny/Harry (and by attempted, I mean _only attempted_)

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc.

* * *

**One Perfect Something**

**I'll Be Just Fine**

_September 10 . . ._

Sixth year had started ten days ago, and Harry Potter felt like a year had passed. Every day dragged on like a detention with Snape, and everyone's worrying over his mental state after Sirius' death dug at the already festering wound. _Are you all right?_ Yeah, if you'd stop fucking asking me that! _Is Sirius' death hitting you hard? _Hmm, let me think about that for a minute. Well, duh. Of course it is! Are you stupid? _Are you sure you're coping okay?_ Well, I would be if you leave me the hell alone! Every time you bring it up makes me think about it! So just shut up, already!

Nobody could take a hint.

On this wonderfully dreary day, Harry sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall for breakfast. The food was bland, as usual, and Harry didn't have much of an appetite, as was common as of late, but he pretended to eat. This involved lots of moving the food around on his plate to give the appearance of making the food disappear. So far, no one had noticed this easy trick, although he was sure someone would catch on sooner or later.

His housemates were chattering about nothing in particular, too tired to make much effort on the conversation front, something he was glad for. And then someone brought up the topic of dating. Harry immediately wanted to slink away. He hated this kind of stuff.

Why? Inevitably, the conversation turned to him. They all wanted him to experience the joys of dating like they were. Seamus, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, asked him, "So Harry, you give any thought to lovely Ginny here?"

Ginny immediately blushed, although her eyes were focused on Harry for his reply. Harry sighed and ignored Ginny, turning to face Seamus. "Seamus, you know I don't want to date anyone right now."

It was a complete and utter lie, because the thing he desired most in the world was to have someone to be with. But they bought it, and even thought the reason for it was Sirius' death. This dimmed their spirits, but unfortunately, they were like dogs that wouldn't let go of a good bone. Ron blurted out, "But I think dating someone would help." Ron very much wanted Harry to date his sister because he felt that Harry was the only guy good enough for her. And then, Harry would really be one of the family.

Insert lie here. "I wouldn't be able to commit myself to anyone. You have to be whole to give yourself to someone completely."

Actually, Harry was under the belief that you have to have pieces missing so that they could fit with the other person's, like a puzzle. A whole person didn't need someone because they were just that, whole.

Seamus raised an eyebrow and said, "You don't have to marry the girl, just date her."

Ginny, although she very much wanted to date Harry, her crush on him having been renewed over the summer, didn't like how everyone was trying to force her on him. "Stop it guys. You can't force someone to date someone they don't want to."

In reality, her eyes gave away the fact that she thought this was very much possible if you just tried hard enough. Harry wasn't stupid, and had learned to read body language. He saw what she really felt. He hated himself for it. He knew she'd try over and over again to make him want her, and he knew he could never want her. Not like that.

"Of course you can, Weaselette. That's what the Imperius Curse is for," Draco Malfoy's condescending voice broke in. He stood a few feet away, a smirk on his face. His two goons grinned stupidly on either side of him.

Ron growled, his face going red. "That's illegal, Malfoy!"

"Really? I'm surprised you knew that, being so thickheaded and all."

"Shut it!"

Malfoy sighed melodramatically. "Is that the best comeback you have? Such a pity, but what can one expect from a weasel?"

"At least I'm not a pointy-face ferret!" Ron retorted, his eyes blazing. Hermione had her hand on his arm, attempting to make him sit down. Really, if he lost house points before classes even began for the day . . .

The blond-haired Slytherin ignored him now, instead turning his malicious attention to a certain green-eyed boy who had a bored expression on his chiseled features. "So, Potter, how's life without that mangy cur around? Did he really scream when he fell?"

His comment tore another hole in his already bleeding and broken heart, but Harry was not about to let him see that. Instead, he stood up and said, very calmly, "I'm not going to dignify that with a response, Malfoy. I find that I'm not in the mood to oblige your cruel nature today."

Then he walked away, knowing all the while that a terrible scowl was twisting the other boy's aristocratic features. There would most likely be hell to pay later, but Harry found that he could not bring himself to care. Short of death, nothing Malfoy could do would really hurt him.

Once Harry found himself in the corridor outside the Great Hall, he decided that he didn't really feel like going to Potions. Snape would probably dock him a hundred points for skipping, but he really didn't care. His housemates might, but he knew that all he had to do was save the wizarding world again by the end of the year and he'd win more than enough points back.

He walked the halls of Hogwarts for over twenty minutes until he saw that his feet had brought him to the library. It looked like a good a place as any to spend his time, and he walked inside. Madame Pince gave him a stern look, but did not say anything about him skipping class. She may have been a strict librarian, but she was a gentle person otherwise.

Harry nodded to her and lost himself amongst the book stacks. The dusty smell of the old tomes comforted him. Books only helped you, never hurt you, unless you counted that monster book Hagrid had them buy for third year. They didn't expect anything of you.

His eyes swept across the various titles, not really looking for anything, until he saw a book that caught his eye. It was bound in a deep violet leather, black letters embossed on the spine. Charms for the Wizard Who Wants Escape, by Braden Conlan. Harry thought it was the oddest title for a book, and so he was very much intrigued. He slid it off the shelf and made his way over to an armchair in the back of the library. Not many people knew about the armchairs, since the library was so big and most people thought it was only for studying, but Hermione had shown him in fourth year that the library could also be used for pleasure. He sometimes grabbed a book and simply relaxed in one of the comfy chairs, still around other people, but distanced and unbothered.

He sunk into the large armchair, smiling slightly at how at ease it always made him feel. Curling up into a comfortable position, he opened the surprisingly thick book. He turned to the author's page first, always wanting to know the background information on an author to see why they wrote what they did. Sometimes, the biographies were boring. But other times, they were very interesting. Like today's.

Braden Conlan, born into a prestigious pureblooded family in the seventeenth century, he saved the wizarding world from a rising Dark Lady by the name of Aris at the age of sixteen. He disliked his newfound fame, and thus began to withdraw from society. At the age of seventeen, he wrote this book so that other wizards or witches who wanted to escape from anything in their life could find some modicum of peace. Three days after the first edition went into publication, he disappeared. All that is left is a portrait hung in the back of Hogwarts' library by the armchairs.

Harry frowned and closed the book. He lifted his head and looked around. True enough; there was a portrait of a young man in seventeenth century clothing dozing in an armchair that looked oddly like the one Harry was sitting in. Having the feeling that this was a very strange coincidence, he got up and walked over to the portrait. "Braden Conlan?"

The blond-haired youth shook himself awake, opening stunning violet eyes. "What? Who's calling me?"

Harry gave a little wave and Braden blinked his eyes at him. "Oh, you've got my book. Is it a good read?"

"I wouldn't know. I only read the author's biography," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders in apology.

Braden narrowed his eyes in a very Slytherin-like manner and muttered, "A Gryffindor, I should have guessed."

Harry was only slightly offended. "And I'll take that to mean you were a Slytherin?"

The portrait nodded. "Of course. I'm a pureblood."

In response, Harry snorted. "Not all purebloods are in Slytherin."

"The good ones are, and thus, I suspect, you are either a half-blood, or a pathetic excuse for a pureblood. I'm betting on the half-blood."

The odd thing was, Harry should have been affronted by the portrait's arrogant and rather rude behavior, but he wasn't. He actually enjoyed the sparring. And so he decided to respond in kind.

"You're right. Unfortunately, my father disappointed his distinguished bloodlines and married a muggleborn witch."

Braden examined him closely for a few moments before asking, quite casually, "And what family is that?"

"The Potters of course. They were once up there with the Malfoys and Parkinsons, but now there is only me left to carry on the Potter bloodline. I think I've done quite well, though."

"Oh, truly? It would take much to wash away the half-blood taint, especially for a Potter. I'm afraid you're much below the Malfoys now."

Harry noticed the fond tone in Conlan's voice as he spoke of the Malfoys. Interesting. He decided to explore that. "Below the Malfoys? Yeah, I bet Malfoy wishes I were below him." He made sure to bring the innuendo in the sentence across.

Braden caught the innuendo, but instead of becoming angry, he nodded. "Malfoys are never on bottom. We are always on top, no matter what the situation."

"You're a Malfoy?" Harry had caught the "we" in the portrait's statement.

"My mother was. The Conlan's were quite prestigious when I was alive, but I'm afraid I was the last of the family. My mother was unable to have more than one child, and as in most pureblooded families, there are only ever a few of us each generation. I believe the Weasleys are the only exception, and I hear that they have lowered themselves greatly in the last couple of centuries. Pity. They were ever the tricksters and quite clever to boot."

Harry digested this, and then asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue for the last five minutes. "Where did you go when you disappeared?"

"I infused my soul into this portrait and killed off my physical body," he replied simply.

The Gryffindor stared at him, stunned. "But why would you do that?"

Braden sighed and pushed a few strands of his long, blond hair behind his ear. "I did not want to live any longer. My love was killed in that final battle against Aris, and I hated the fame killing that cursed Dark Lady brought me. I could have withstood it with Ross by my side, but without him, I despised the fake worship I received. Thus I disappeared."

"Why did you not really die and find Ross on the Other Side?" Harry asked, curious.

"Because I was the one who got him killed. I could not bear to face him after failing him."

Harry could identify with that kind of guilt. He knew he would never be able to face Sirius after failing him the way he had. Sirius, the one person who had truly believed in him. And he had failed him in the worst way possible.

"Why do you frown?" the portrait asked, a mixture of curiosity and sympathy in his violet eyes.

Harry's emerald eyes had been gazing at the stone floor, but now they raised up to look into Braden's, tears shining in their depths. "I killed someone, too."

Braden merely looked at him, knowing the boy would eventually spill his tale. Guilt like the kind they felt always needed to be let out or else it caused someone to do something stupid, like turning themselves into a portrait. Since he knew he had been stupid, especially for a Slytherin, he decided to be the Potter boy's friendly ear.

"I defeated a Dark Lord by the name of Voldemort when I was a year old. He came back in my first year here at Hogwarts, and I've basically managed to defeat him every year since. But this last spring, I believed a false vision sent by Voldemort and ended up getting Sirius, my godfather, killed. He was the only one who loved me unconditionally for who I was, not what I had done. And I killed him. I killed . . . him . . ." Harry collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. He sobbed quietly for a few minutes and then began speaking again, anger now filling his emerald eyes.

"I can't stand it now that he's gone. Everyone pretends that everything's okay, and they all believe me when I say I'm fine. I'm not fine, but nobody wants to look beneath the surface. And then they're all pressuring me to date this girl who I know I could never date because she's my best friend's sister and she's a girl and I don't want to date a girl! I don't like girls! They're frail and weak and clingy and they cry too much! And I just . . . can't! I want someone else, like Malfoy, although I'll never tell him that because he's a prat and I hate him and he hates me, and that's good, but then I can't be with him, and I want to, but everyone would think I'm insane and I can't because people would hate me and I just _can't_!"

He pressed his palms against the hard floor, gasping for air as he tried to breathe after his long rant. Emotionally spent, he waited for the portrait to give an utterly Slytherin response. Instead, Braden said, softly, "Ross was a Gryffindor. Page 54 might help." Then he walked out of the frame, leaving it empty.

Five minutes passed, in which Harry gathered himself together. He couldn't let anyone see him all torn up like he was. He wasn't ready to show anyone the truth. Instead, he would keep pretending and in the meantime, look up page 54 and see what it could do to help him.

He thus tore page 54 out of the book and left the library to go to his next class.

* * *

Influences: Finch and The Used

Note: This story is spawned out of my insane obsession for analyzing things, especially Harry's mind. I also think that it would be amazing if there were a spell where there could be an entire day that no matter what happened, no one would remember it. You could do anything that you're too afraid to do, and if you were rejected or ridiculed, no one would remember.

Please review, because reviews really do help motivate me. Keep reading, too, but marvelous things will begin to happen. I can't unveil them yet, but know that you will enjoy them! Oh, and I promise no long waits between updates because I have quite a bit of the story written already. So, expect Part two sometime before December 1.

Have a great day!

Roslyn.


	2. In Love With Hate

Author's Note: HBP does not exist in this story. I refuse, at the moment, to write any story with HBP involved. That may change, but currently, my mind refuses to accept that continuance of the Harry Potter books. So please enjoy a nice, AU story set during Harry's sixth year.

Warning: Themes of angst, moderate slash, swearing, etc.

Pairing: The only pairing I ever do, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A few sub-pairings of Ron/Hermione, attempted Ginny/Harry (and by attempted, I mean _only attempted_)

Summary: Harry finds a spell that will allow him to have one day that will have no consequences because no one will remember it, including him. But does he really want to forget after all is said and done? HPDM, 6th yr without HBP

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc.

* * *

**One Perfect Something**

**In Love With Hate**

_October 17 . . ._

Over a month had passed since Harry's talk with the portrait. He had gone back several times to see Braden, but each time, the portrait had been empty. Harry got the feeling that Braden was purposely avoiding him, which angered him. He had spilled his guts to him and he was avoiding him. He should have expected it, since he had been a Slytherin, but still, he'd hoped for better.

Another strange thing since that rather peculiar day was that every time he saw Malfoy, the other boy would either purposely ignore him or start a bad fight. His insults were worse, the hate in his eyes magnified, and he'd even gotten physical with him a few times. Harry couldn't understand why, because the only thing he'd done to him that day was ignore him. Did Malfoy really hate being ignored that much?

He didn't know, but he realized that Malfoy wouldn't let himself be ignored anymore. The times he'd gotten physical had been when Harry had tried to ignore him. And since Harry refused to stay immobile in a physical fight, he'd fought back. Surprisingly, he'd actually liked fighting with Malfoy. Perhaps his attraction for Malfoy figured into it, but it was mostly the fact that physical fighting let out some of his inner turmoil. He liked letting his anger, frustration, and pain out on Malfoy.

On this day, Harry woke up itching for a fight. He hoped that Malfoy would instigate one, because Harry knew he could never be the one to start one. His friends might get worried about his mental state again, and they'd been rather relaxed about him lately. And Gryffindors were strange creatures. They thought someone had problems if they started a fight, but they saw nothing wrong with defending oneself if someone started fighting them.

He made his way down to breakfast a little early, surprised that he was a hungrier than he had been in a while. Shrugging, he helped himself to a heaping plate of sausage and biscuits. It was quite delicious.

A few minutes later, the main throng of students poured into the Great Hall. This included Malfoy and his cronies, and the Gryffindor gang. Harry had to physically hide his eagerness at a fight when Malfoy's eyes caught his for a moment. Instead, he coolly glared at the blond, who glared back. Hmm, Malfoy did look a bit peevish this morning. But was it enough to make him pick a fight?

"Harry, you're hungry today," Hermione noted, bringing his attention back to the Gryffindor table.

He lifted another forkful of sausage to his mouth and nodded. He didn't think she needed an actual verbal response. And apparently she didn't, because she turned to her own meal, a pleased smile curving her mouth. He rolled his eyes. Sixteen and she was already turning into a mini-Molly Weasley. He wasn't sure if the Weasley men could handle more than one Molly Weasley.

A few minutes of peaceful silence passed, and then Lavender Brown bounced up to the sleepy group. "Guess what I just heard? Malfoy is throwing a party tonight. Invitations are going to be sent any minute!"

Ron swallowed his latest bite of food and said, "So? It's Malfoy. Who'd want to go a party of his?"

"I do. I hear he's having it in the Room of Requirement and there'll be alcohol and dancing, and loads more! The teachers are turning a blind eye as long as everyone's in their dormitories by midnight."

Suddenly, black envelopes began falling from the ceiling, landing in front of several people in the upper years. Almost all sixth and seventh year Slytherins received one, as did several Ravenclaws, and a few Hufflepuffs. Interestingly enough, the Golden Trio each received one. Hermione and Ron looked stunned, and Harry just looked at his with disinterest.

Lavender, having not gotten one, became instantly furious that Hermione, and not her, got to go. "Give me yours! You're obviously not going, and I want to."

A smooth voice spoke from behind the furious girl. "Actually, Brown, it wouldn't matter if she gave it to you or not. Only those who were actually given an invitation can go. And besides, I wouldn't want you at my party if you were the last witch on earth."

Her face flushed bright red, and she hissed, "And you invited the three people you hate most? Where are your priorities? I am the most popular witch in school!"

Draco Malfoy graced her with his trademark smirk. "Yes, that may be true, but I am the most popular wizard, and Potter, as much as I hate to admit it, it just below me in popularity. I had the choice of inviting the most popular witch and the second most popular wizard, and so I decided that I'd rather have the one with an actual brain come. And I invited the weasel and Granger because I thought I'd give Potter some company. Sorry, Brown, but since you are neither one of my friends or one of Potter's close friends, you didn't make the cut."

Harry figured that since he'd been invited to Malfoy's party, that meant there would be no fight today. So, he decided to have his fun another way and so he interrupted any reply the furious Lavender might have made. "What makes you so sure I'll even come, Malfoy?"

"Oh, you'll come."

Only Harry noticed the special inflection Malfoy put on the word "come". And Malfoy knew he noticed. His silver eyes gleamed in challenge, as if daring Harry to protest such a disgusting thing. Which it would be disgusting if you were straight. But Harry wasn't, and so he felt he just had to reply, "Only if you make it exciting, Malfoy. Is it going to be exciting?"

The blond-haired Slytherin almost lost his composure at the blatant innuendo in his voice. Was Potter actually playing along instead of getting offended like he'd hoped? Well, two could play this game.

"It'll be exciting, I promise. A Malfoy never disappoints. But can you handle it?"

Harry merely lifted his eyebrow and curled his lips into a half-smirk, half-smile. Then, Ron had to ruin the moment by turning to him and blurting out, "You're not really going, are you?"

The shock in his voice caused Harry's next comment, "What, am I not allowed to have some fun?"

Hermione broke in, "Of course you are, but Harry, this is Malfoy's party. You hate Malfoy."

Cause and effect. Harry turned to Malfoy and asked, innocently, "Malfoy, do you hate me?"

The other boy frowned and answered, as if Harry were an idiot, "Of course I hate you."

Harry then asked, "And you still invited me to your party?"

Malfoy realized what he was getting at and sneered at Granger. He replied to Potter's question in a drawling voice, "Yes, I did."

Harry turned to his friend and said, "See. He hates me and he still invited me. I hate him, and I'm going. It all works out."

She looked at him as if he had gone insane, but he merely grinned at her and walked away, snatching his invitation off the table where it had been sitting forlornly. He opened it on the way to his first class. It read:

**Potter, **

**You are invited to Draco Malfoy's Party**

**Being held on the seventeenth of October**

**In the room of requirement**

**You should know how to enter, Potter**

**Unless you've forgotten and then**

**Oh well, I guess you can't come**

**Be there at 8 o'clock**

**Dress code is anything**

**You want but it has to be dark**

**And remember this is a Slytherin party**

**No t-shirts or jeans**

**See you in hell,**

**Malfoy**

Cute, he thought. Real cute. Now what did he have to wear?

* * *

Seven-thirty arrived and Harry stood in front of his trunk, panicking. He had to have something to wear that didn't make him look like a loser. This was a party, and you just had to look good at a party. It wasn't as if he wanted to look nice for Malfoy or anything, because he didn't, but he did want to look good because it was a party. And people noticed what you wore at a party. And he didn't want Malfoy to sneer at him because he looked stupid.

He thanked the Fates that Hermione had taken him clothes shopping when they'd gone for school supplies at the end of the summer, or else he would have refused to even attempt to go to the party. But even with all of these new clothes, he couldn't find something to wear.

Sighing, he knelt down and started digging through his trunk for the fifth time. After a few minutes, he decided that his dark-green silk button-down wouldn't look that bad, especially if he wore it with his pair of expensive black trousers. His dress shoes didn't look that bad, especially if he performed a spell to erase the scuff marks.

But what about accessories? He needed a good necklace to wear, especially if he unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt. Hmm, maybe that silver chain with the gryphon on it that Ginny gave him for his last birthday. And maybe he could change his stud earring for the small hoop one now that he'd had his piercing for at least six weeks.

But his hair! He spent ten minutes in front of the mirror attempting to tame his hair. Nothing happened, except that it maybe looked more shagged-messy than messy-messy. He gave up only when he realized that if he didn't leave soon, he'd be late for the party.

He left his dormitory and headed to the party. He met Ron and Hermione at the Fat Lady's portrait, Hermione having decided that going to the party maybe wouldn't be as bad as she thought it would be. She was dragging Ron by the arm, literally.

"Harry, you look nice," she complimented, smoothing out any wrinkles in her own outfit. He knew she wanted a compliment back, so he looked over what she was wearing and told her what he thought. She was wearing a burgundy mini-dress with thin straps holding it up, a silvery, sheer lace shrug, and ballet-strap wedge shoes that added three inches to her height. Her hair was perfectly straight, by use of a spell, he was sure, and her make up was smoky and stunning. A silver neck chain was her only jewelry, except for two silver studs in her ears. She looked amazing. "I am at a loss for words, except to say that I'm almost jealous of Ron."

She grinned, rolling her eyes because Ron wasn't even paying attention. Ron's outfit wasn't bad looking either, and it was obvious that Hermione had dressed him. He wore a black dress shirt and charcoal-gray dress trousers, very simple.

They headed to the party and arrived at precisely 8 o'clock. Other students were also making their way into the Room of Requirement, and Harry noticed that they had all had the same idea when dressing for the party. Mini skirts and mini dresses for the girls, and dress shirts and trousers for the guys. They all looked like they were going clubbing at an expensive club in London.

Inside the room, the only lighting was several torches along the walls. Loud music pounded against everyone's eardrums. There was a bar on the one side of the room, and several students were already helping themselves to the free alcohol. Harry joined them, snagging a fire whiskey. It burned a path down his throat, but after the first sip, it was pleasant. It immediately went to work on him. He loved it.

Malfoy lounged on a couch in the right-hand corner of the room, his eyes watching everyone like a hawk. His eyelids were hooded, veiling his molten silver eyes. And they were like molten fire, liquid, burning. They burned into Harry when they caught his gaze, and Harry finished off his fire whiskey in a single gulp. He stared at Malfoy, his own eyelids lowering, his emerald eyes darkening. Moments passed, and he found that his feet had carried him to the spot where Malfoy sat watching him.

"So where's the excitement you promised, Malfoy? All I see is alcohol and dancing," he lazily asked the blond-haired Slytherin. Malfoy didn't answer; instead he appraised his rival. "You clean up nicely, from the trash you usually wear."

Harry didn't respond to this. Instead he repeated, "Where's the excitement you promised?"

"Your friends look worried that you're talking to me, Potter," Malfoy whispered, his eyes burning.

Harry slowly turned his head to look at Ron and Hermione, who were pretending to be into the dancing, but were actually watching him. Ron merely looked perplexed, but Hermione looked apprehensive. He hated it, hated them then.

"Let them be worried. They don't own me. They don't know me." He stated, curling his lip in disdain. He turned back to Malfoy and felt recklessness seize him. He knew exactly what to use page 54 for. Having memorized the words weeks ago, he murmured, "_Cle ise matrithé tur clara puire. Cle ise muire en ithra nar gwer'an._"

As soon as he finished speaking the words, Malfoy started laughing. "You just spoke page 54."

Harry was stunned. Malfoy knew about page 54? How? "How do you know about it?"

A contemplative look came into the Slytherin's smoky silver eyes. "When you turned to Granger and the weasel, I spoke it."

The raven-haired boy was shocked, to say the least. Why would Malfoy have spoken the words to that spell? Malfoy must have seen the question in his eyes, because he drawled, "I plan on making you scream before the night is over, and not in pain."

A curious shiver raced across Harry's skin when he said that, and his mouth suddenly went dry. He licked his lips to wet them and said, "Oh? Well, since that's why I used page 54, too, I guess it's okay."

They looked at each other, both of them with a smoldering fire in their eyes, and anticipatory smirks curling their lips. This was going to be an enjoyable night, and the thing was, neither of them was going to remember it. They didn't dwell on each other's reason for saying the spell, only that they could do whatever they wanted, and no one would remember. They would have a night without consequences.

* * *

Influences: The Used; In Love and Death; Track 9

Note: I just realized I make page 54 sound like Area 54, where all the aliens the US keeps secret are. I am so weird.

The words for the spell are completely and utterly made up, basically sounding like a mix of Gaelic, old English, and French. I'm good at coming up with random nonsense. Let's just pretend the words mean something, okay?

Please review, even if it's only a couple words long, so that I can be motivated. I have the story written, but the more reviews I get faster, the quicker I'll decide to post the next update. I have the power here, sorry! I'm like a sneaky Slytherin sometimes, and I have the Slytherin shirt to prove it. Mwahaha! And yes, I have a lot of caffeine in me, so sorry about the random weirdness.

Have a great day!

Roslyn.


	3. Page 54

Author's Note: HBP does not exist in this story. I refuse, at the moment, to write any story with HBP involved. That may change, but currently, my mind refuses to accept that continuance of the Harry Potter books. So please enjoy a nice, AU story set during Harry's sixth year.

Warning: Themes of angst, moderate slash, swearing, etc. Also be warned that the rating has just shot up from PG-13 to R (or using the rating scale on this site, T to M)

Pairing: The only pairing I ever do, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A few sub-pairings of Ron/Hermione, attempted Ginny/Harry (and by attempted, I mean _only attempted_)

Summary: Harry finds a spell that will allow him to have one day with no consequences because no one will remember it, including him. But things happen that he could never have predicted. Does he really want to forget after all is said and done? HPDM, 6th, no HBP

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc.

* * *

**One Perfect Something**

**Page 54**

_October 17(still) . . ._

Five minutes later, Harry was sitting on the couch beside Malfoy. Both held a glass of what Malfoy described as the most volatile drink in the wizarding world. Called Siren's Whisper, it tasted like berries, liquid fire, and cool night air. Malfoy said it had the alcohol content of firewhiskey, a truth serum nearly as powerful as Veritaserum, and a highly reactive aphrodisiac. Harry became instantly addicted with his first sip. He settled into the plush couch, suddenly feeling better than he had in ages. He observed the other people at the party, smirking at anyone who gave the sight of him and Malfoy sitting together more than a second's glance.

Moments passed comfortably, and then Malfoy turned to say, "I saw you that day, at Braden's portrait."

Harry stiffened. He gulped down the last of his drink and turned to Malfoy, his face carefully impassive. "Oh? How much did you catch?"

"The entire exchange. It was quite enlightening, actually." There was a gleam in his silver eyes as he said this.

And Harry knew why the Slytherin had been fighting with him more. He'd heard about Harry's attraction to him. But why the hell hadn't he told anyone? He'd have thought Malfoy would jump at the chance to humiliate him. Instead, he'd just fought more.

"Why didn't you do anything about this enticing piece of information?" Harry asked him, immensely curious. Draco gracefully finished off his glass of Siren's Whisper and shrugged lightly. "It was more useful this way."

"Why?"

The blond-haired boy turned his gaze to look out at the numerous students enjoying his little party and sighed. "I had found out something that made my own confession not so bad. It certainly confused me, and frustrated me, but it made things not so bad."

There was silence for a few moments, and then Harry, impatient to know what he meant, asked, "Made what not so bad?"

"My own unholy attraction," Malfoy murmured, his eyes still gazing out at the dance floor.

Harry was floored. He stared at Malfoy's profile; sure that he had heard him wrong. His arch-nemesis, the one not a six-foot snake monster, had admitted to having an attraction for him. Sure, earlier Malfoy had confessed that he was going to shag him senseless before the night was over, but that wasn't the same as actually admitting an _attraction_. Shagging could be spur of the moment decision, especially since it could be a product of someone being handy at the right time. But an attraction meant actual lusting after someone, thinking about someone. And Malfoy had just confessed to having such an attraction.

Draco continued, his voice still soft, "I'd hated myself for it. Me, wanting the bloody Golden Boy? Then when I heard you confess your own attraction, I didn't know what to do. I hated you and I wanted you, and then I knew that you wanted me even though you still hated me? I thought to myself, "We are both messed up beyond belief." I started fighting you more, because I started hating you more for making my disgusting attraction within reach. I hate you, and I want you so badly it makes my balls hurt. Do you understand that?"

His voice has risen near the end, and the words hit Harry like a blow to the groin. "Yes, I do understand, because I want to rip your throat out sometimes, and then I want to fuck you hard you scream for mercy. It's completely fucked up."

Malfoy had turned to him while he spoke, and the fire in his eyes, made Harry's blood flow to a certain part of his anatomy. The aphrodisiac in Siren's Whisper was doing its work and doing it well. He unbuttoned the fourth button on his shirt, suddenly very warm. Malfoy laughed, a husky sound that was like an aphrodisiac all of its own.

The music changed from the usual techno-beat music that usually played at clubs, to a song that Harry knew well from his discovery of muggle rock music over the summer. The song still had a techno-like background beat, but it had the bass and vocals of pure alternative rock.

_Until you crash, until you burn_

_Until you lie, until you learn_

_Until you see, until you believe_

Harry rose from his seat as if magnetically pulled. This song was one of his favorites, from an American band by the name of **30 Seconds to Mars**. He loved their music, and was of the opinion that there _were_ some actors that could sing, like Jared Leto, the lead vocalist of the band.

As he made his way to the dance floor, he stared intently at Malfoy. He mouthed the next lyrics at the silver-eyed Slytherin.

_Until you fight, until you fall_

_Until the end of everything at all_

_Until you die, until you're alive_

Then he closed his eyes and began to move rhythmically to the music. The words rang out inside his head, pounding . . .

_Don't save me, don't save me _

_Cuz I don't care_

_Don't save me, don't save me,_

_Cuz I'm not okay_

And he wasn't okay. He let the music carry him away and he remembered everything. Failing Sirius. Everyone trying to protect him from the pain. Everyone trying to save him. He didn't want to be saved. He didn't care. _He didn't care_.

Maybe that's why he'd performed page 54, why he was going to go somewhere with Malfoy later and do the one thing his body craved above all else. To be connected to another in the most primal way possible.

Words whispered in his ear made him open his eyes and turn slightly to look at his left. Malfoy stood there, his body moving gracefully to the emotional music. His lips formed the words of the song.

_Until you give, until you've used_

_Until you're lost, until you lose_

_Until you see how could you believe_

_Until you've lived a thousand times,_

_Until you see the other side_

Harry was stunned that Malfoy knew the words to the song so well. This was a song by a muggle band, and not even one of their hit singles. How did he know? Why did he know?

_This is my chance, this is myself_

And Harry knew. He looked into Malfoy's molten silver eyes and he knew.

They danced together, their eyes locked on each other. Their bodies moved rhythmically, fire building inside of them.

_Don't save me, don't save me_

Malfoy moved closer, behind him. His body was inches away, almost touching, but not quite. Electricity raced across Harry's skin. Another button on his shirt was undone.

_Cuz I don't care_

Hands up under his shirt, on his hips. Half touching his trousers, half touching burning hot skin. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he held back a gasp.

_Don't save me, don't save me_

Fingers not his own finished unbuttoning his shirt.

_Cuz I'm not okay_

Harry leaned back against Malfoy's hard body, uncaring that people would be watching them. They wouldn't remember.

_Until the truth becomes a lie,_

_Until you change, until you deny, until you believe_

Malfoy's front was completely pressed against Harry's back. Harry let out a stuttered gasp as he felt the other boy's hard arousal press against his buttocks. Oh dear Merlin . . .

_This is my chance, this is my chance _

_I'll take it now because I can_

He turned to face the silver-eyed Slytherin. "We're going."

Draco's upper lip curved into a smirk that was more teasing than anything else. "The song's not over yet."

_This is my chance, I want it_

Harry stepped between his legs and very lightly pressed his aching body against his. He got to see the other boy let out a soft moan at the contact. The aphrodisiac was at full strength now, making every touch feel ten times more powerful.

Malfoy nodded. "We're going."

They walked off the dance floor, one thing on their minds. Making the other scream so much their throat went raw. Hermione and Ron attempted to talk to Harry, both looking disturbed at his proximity to Malfoy. He was pressed up against the Slytherin's side, Malfoy arm around his bare waist. "Harry, what are you doing?" "Mate, what the fuck's going on?" the two innocent Gryffindors asked at the same time.

_Don't save me, don't save me _

_Cuz I don't care _

_Don't save me, don't save me _

_Cuz I'm not okay_

Harry merely made a suggestive wink at them and let Malfoy lead him away. The blond stopped them at a part of the wall that was draped by gleaming black silk. Malfoy whispered a word and the silk hanging moved to reveal a doorway. He explained, "I put it here when setting up the room. It's soundproof and only I can open it."

Clever. Harry followed him into a spacious bedroom with a bed that looked to be twice a king size. It was covered in dark green, silk sheets. Like the other room, only a few torches on the walls lit the room. A pool of crystal clear water that looked to be steaming graced the corner, easily large enough for eight people. Black silk draped the walls and ceiling, and the floor was a plush silver carpet. It was completely Slytherin, and Harry fell in love with it.

"If this decorating is any indication, you're certainly gay," he murmured to Malfoy.

The other boy laughed, a low, husky sound. "I wouldn't be here with you if I weren't."

"True." Harry smiled and slipped his shirt off. He dropped it on the floor, carelessly; noting absent-mindedly that it matched the bed. He lazily made his way over to the bed and caressed the smooth silk with his right hand. That would feel nice against his skin as they—

Burning hot lips pressed against the back of his neck, sucking lightly. Harry moaned and leaned against the touch. After a moment, though, he turned and attacked those lips with his own. The contact was mind numbing. Although he didn't have much experience with kissing, he was a quick learner. Within seconds his tongue was tangling with Malfoy's and they were both moaning.

Malfoy shoved at him and he fell back onto the bed, taking the other boy with him. They continued kissing. Harry's fingers nimbly unbuttoned Malfoy's shirt, slipping the expensive black silk off his muscled shoulders. Then his hands roamed over the silken skin that was revealed. Malfoy was so slender, but perfectly muscled. His abs were taut, covered by burning hot skin that contracted slightly at each touch his hands made. Harry grinned against Malfoy's lips. Malfoy growled and straddled his hips. He pressed his groin against Harry's; making sure the other boy felt how hard he was. Harry felt it like a punch to the stomach. He moaned, loudly.

Draco slipped his fingers from where they had been gripping Harry's hair and put them to use unbuckling the other boy's trousers. He then quickly lowered the zipper, but was stopped by Potter's own hands. He narrowed his eyes. Was he going to act like a prude now?

Instead, the Gryffindor undid Draco's trousers, going so far as to pull them down off completely. Of course, he ran into some trouble with his shoes, but quickly unlaced them and took them off, too.

Draco didn't mind, but he wanted Potter's pants off. He pulled off his shoes, hard, and practically ripped his pants off him. Then he set himself to forcefully kissing his way down Potter's muscled chest and abs. He used lips, tongue and teeth. Especially teeth. Red marks soon dotted Potter's golden skin. Gasps and moans spilled from the Gryffindor's mouth. He grinned against his stomach and slowly pulled his boxers down. He knew Potter's eyes were on him as he enveloped his hard heat in his mouth. The other boy moaned loudly. He licked his down his length. Another moan.

Harry knew he couldn't handle much of Malfoy's mouth on him. The aphrodisiac was working too strongly. Every sensation that warm mouth Malfoy gave was magnified tenfold. Then Malfoy very lightly touched his teeth to him and he felt his world shatter. He pulled himself away and pushed at Malfoy until he was the one lying down. He straddled his hard body and pulled his last bit of clothing off, the expensive silk boxers that couldn't hide the erection straining between his legs. Harry grinned as that bit of burning flesh was revealed.

He wrapped his hand around it and stroked lightly. It jerked and Malfoy groaned deep in his throat. He stroked again. This time Malfoy growled and rolled them over. His voice rasped into Harry's ear, "Enough foreplay. I'm going to shove myself into you so hard you're going to scream at me to stop, but I won't. I'll do it again and again, and you're going to hate me so much, you'll come screaming, and I'll come screaming, because I hate you that much, too. Got it?"

Harry had frozen at the coarse words spilling from Malfoy's mouth. They sent images racing through his mind, images that made him harder than he had ever thought possible. He hated them, and he hated Malfoy, but he wanted him so badly, it hurt. He wanted to scream, and knew he would. They hated each other, and they would make each other scream bloody murder.

"Oh, I'll hate you, and I'll scream, but the word "stop", if it's said, won't be coming from me."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "I'm not being bottom."

Harry grinned, and it was full of darkness and sexuality. "I know."

Those two words ignited Draco's interest and he immediately pressed the other boy into the sheets. "Then this should be fun, shouldn't it?"

_Save me, _

_Save me, _

_Save me, _

_Save me, _

_Save me, _

_Save me, _

_** I'm not okay . . .**_

* * *

Inspiration: 30 Seconds To Mars

Oh boy, reading this through after writing it made one thought ring through my head, "Well, the rating just skyrocketed, didn't it?" Sorry it doesn't go further into the sex scene, but I don't write hard-core smut. This is as far as I go, and in fact, this is the farthest I've ever gone. Lucky you. And, I didn't mean to post this chapter so soon, but after seeing all of the really motivational reviews I received, I couldn't _not _update. Doubly lucky you.

I know it was a bit contrived that Malfoy knows a muggle song, but it's really not. Harry has figured it out, but I'm leaving it to be found out by the readers until a later chapter. Or, you can use your investigative skills right now and make a guess. Here's a hint, look closely at those first six lyrics Malfoy sings. If you think you know, tell me and I'll give you an answer!

I also just want to say that I do know that it's Area 51, not 54, but my brain blanked for a minute when I wrote last chapter's A/N and besides, it still kind of sounds the same. Okay, since we now know I'm beyond weird . . .

Well, see you next chapter!

Have a great day!

Oh, and please review this chapter, too! Here's something to motivate some of you. I usually check out the bios and any stories written by those who review my stuff. So, review and you'll probably get a review! Although, I only read HPDM. So if you write other stuff, I'm sorry, but I can't read anything else. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I physically cannot pay attention to anything else other than HPDM. Believe me, I've tried. It doesn't work.

Roslyn.


	4. I'm Not Okay

Author's Note: HBP does not exist in this story. I refuse, at the moment, to write any story with HBP involved. That may change, but currently, my mind refuses to accept that continuance of the Harry Potter books. So please enjoy a nice, AU story set during Harry's sixth year.

Warning: Themes of angst, moderate slash, swearing, etc. Also be warned that the rating has just shot up from PG-13 to R (or using the rating scale on this site, T to M)

Pairing: The only pairing I ever do, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A few sub-pairings of Ron/Hermione, attempted Ginny/Harry (and by attempted, I mean _only attempted_)

Summary: Harry finds a spell that will allow him to have one day with no consequences because no one will remember it, including him. But things happen that he could never have predicted. Does he really want to forget after all is said and done? HPDM, 6th, no HBP

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc.

* * *

**One Perfect Something**

**I'm Not Okay**

_October 18 (early morning) . . ._

Candlelight shone dimly in the room where only hours ago, Harry had lost his virginity to his enemy and archrival, Draco Malfoy. The blond lay sleeping beside him, a leg thrown over Harry's, an arm wrapped around Harry's waist, and an expression on his slumbering features that Harry had never expected to see equated with him – peace.

Peace. Something not often seen in war, especially not on the face of the son of the devil's right hand man. Of course, it wasn't often seen in the tortured hero either, but there it was. Harry felt calm, contented, for the fir time in months. He looked at the boy who had been the bane of his existence for years and saw the boy who had shown him what it was like to connect with another human being in the most intimate way possible.

They were still enemies, he knew that, but he also knew that they had shared a part of themselves that even though they wouldn't remember their short time together, they would be irrevocably changed.

Malfoy's eyelids fluttered and then opened to reveal sleepy silver orbs. He caught Potter looking at him and he smirked. "See something you like, Potter?"

Harry, instead of giving a witty comeback, said, "Yeah, actually I do."

That surprised the Slytherin, and he propped himself on his elbow to observe the softly smiling teen beside him. Potter looked calm for the first time in months, his shoulders devoid of tension, his emerald eyes free of shadows. He looked almost . . . happy.

Why?" he asked the Gryffindor.

Harry shrugged. He knew Malfoy wasn't asking why he liked what he saw. "Because no matter what happens today, no one will remember anything. Because I finally have a chance to be myself."

_This is my chance_

_This is myself_

Draco froze. Potter was right. They could do anything they wanted and no one would remember a thing. He could tell Pansy to get lost without fearing that she'd spread the fact that he was gay. He could talk to Granger about that insanely hard potion Snape had assigned the day before that even he was having trouble with. He could . . . reveal his true feelings about anything and everything. The war. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. His father. Potter.

Shit, Potter! The raven-haired teen had been waiting for him to say something for the past five minutes! Draco looked at him and was surprised to see hope glowing his bright green eyes. Hope for what? Either way, it made him uncomfortable. "Potter, don't look at me like that. It's disturbing."

Harry didn't become offended. Instead, he raised an eyebrow; where had he learned that distinctly Slytherin mannerism? And he said, "Why, because you don't like displays of emotion?"

Draco narrowed his impossibly deep silver eyes and replied, haughtily, "No, displays of emotion are perfectly all right as long as they are limited to anger, hatred, disdain, contempt, and superiority."

The way he'd phrased it sounded suspiciously like it had been a lesson drilled into him by his father. "So, hope, attraction, and trust are out of the question?" Harry did no add love to that list because love was not a factor in their relationship, whatever that relationship was. They did not love each other, and could never. They were too different.

The Slytherin nodded, like a satisfied teacher with their student. Then Harry said, "But what if I want to display such emotions?"

"You can't! Those kinds of emotions are weaknesses! They only lead to pain and will only get you or those you care about killed."

And Harry knew that this definitely was a lesson Lucius Malfoy had drilled into his son many times. But then again, wasn't the elder Malfoy right? Harry had displayed similar, weak emotions before and had gotten people killed because of it.

But . . . no one would remember this day and so no one would get hurt or killed. "Malfoy, I know they do, but today is an exception. No matter what you say or do, no one will remember!"

Harry didn't give him time to react; instead, he lunged at him and pinned him to the bed. "And because of this, I'm going to show you what it's like to bottom," he whispered in the stunned blond's ear.

Draco immediately attempted to push him off, unsuccessfully. He glared up into gleaming emerald eyes and growled, "Malfoys never bottom!"

In response, a warm hand gripped his erection; wait, where had _that_ come from? Potter grinned lasciviously, "Malfoy, you won't remember being bottom after today. So, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you're going to wish you'd killed me when you had the chance."

Draco, although inwardly he felt a tingle of anticipation, scoffed. "As if you know how. You were a virgin last night."

"Yes, but so were you. And besides, I enjoy a good book once in a while. Some are _very_ informative. So, you remember how good I was at being bottom? I'm even better at topping." With that, he did something with the hand that held Draco's erection that had the blond gripping the sheets and trying hard to contain a scream of pleasure.

When he caught his breath, he hoarsely rasped, "Okay, maybe I can be topped once."

A feral grin was his response, and soon the dimly lit room was filled with sounds that if someone had been listening, they would have thought two panthers were fighting to the death.

* * *

Barely two hours later, the two boys entered the Great Hall intent on making as much trouble as they could. Draco's arm was around Harry's shoulders, the Gryffindors arm around his waist. They were both wearing the clothes they'd worn to the party, wrinkle-free and Scourgified, of course. But no one could mistake the fact that they probably hadn't been wearing those clothes most of the night, if the red marks on their necks and their swollen lips were any indication.

They parted ways almost as soon as they entered, both looking reluctant, and as Draco made his way over to the Slytherin table, he blew an exaggerated kiss to Harry. Harry pretended to catch it and pressed it against his chest, right over his heart. Then he walked over to his seat at the Gryffindor table, looking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Actually, he was having a hard time not bursting into laughter at the absurdity of his and Malfoy's act.

Ron was staring at him as if he'd sprouted another head and that head was attempting to eat him, and Hermione was frowning at him as if he were some great, mysterious puzzle. "Good morning," he said, cheerily, grabbing a biscuit and slathering it with butter.

Ginny glared at him from where she sat two seats down from the seat across him. He winked at her. She went red and hissed, "So, it looks like you're into ferrets, Harry. Did you get off seeing his Dark Mark?"

Well, it looked like Ginny wasn't as pure as she looked, just like he'd suspected. No offense to Ron, who was overprotective of his sister, but Ginny was a right, little bitch when she wanted to be. "Actually, Ginevra, he doesn't have one. Although, I think that may be just because tattoos aren't in vogue right now."

Of course, that was a complete lie, because he had no idea what Malfoy thought of the Death Eaters and the Dark Mark. But the tattoo thing was brilliant, and he'd just had to say it.

And if the look on her face was any indication, it had royally pissed her off.

"Harry, stop irritating Ginny at the breakfast table," Hermione scolded, interrupting any retort the irate redhead may have made.

Harry glanced over at his intelligent friend and wondered why she was acting so composed. She had looked furious the night before, when he had left with Malfoy. So why was she calmly telling him to stop irritating Ginny like he was just being silly?

Ron must have thought the same thing because his mouth dropped open and he blurted out, "Hermione, are you nutters? He just came in with Draco-fucking-Malfoy and you're telling him to _stop irritating Ginny at the breakfast table_? You're insane!"

Hermione merely sighed and replied, "I am not insane, Ronald, you are. Causing a scene this early in the morning is ridiculous. And besides, Harry is old enough to make his own decisions, however disturbing they may be."

"Oh really? You didn't think this last night when he went off with the bloody ferret!" Ron shouted, his eyes blazing.

"Yes, but I had the entire night to think it over and I realized that I was being silly. Besides, no one will remember it anyway."

Harry choked on his biscuit and stared at Hermione. Ron was spluttering about how of course everyone would remember, but the girl was simply looking at Harry with a serene expression on her features. She knew. How in the blazes did she know?

"Hermione?" he questioned, once he managed to get the stupid biscuit down his throat.

She closed the book she had been reading earlier and stood. "It's wise to keep your private items hidden safely, or else anyone may find something very interesting. I'll see you in Potions, Harry."

The smartest girl at Hogwarts exited the Great Hall, a small smile curving her generous lips.

Harry sighed into his food; of course she would have found page 54. He ignored Ron's ranting about how Hermione was an idiot and how Harry was a bloody idiot and why wouldn't anyone tell him what the hell was going on. He quickly finished his breakfast, and then left the Great Hall as well, heading towards Gryffindor Tower to change and gather his schoolbooks for his first class, Double Advanced Potions.

Harry had no idea how he had managed to get into Double Advanced Potions, since he had only received an E in the class, but he suspected Dumbledore had coerced the greasy-haired Potions professor into letting him in. He really did not like the look of hatred Snape gave him every time he saw the older man; it was worse than before.

He entered the class right on time and slid into his seat only moments before Snape billowed into the room, a scowl twisting his features. "You've had enough time to research the potion, now it's time to see if you belong in this class. In groups of three, you will concoct it, and I will not tolerate mistakes. Understood?"

Groups of three? Harry thought that was odd, since they had been working in pairs or alone since the beginning of the year. But since this potion was harder than anything he had ever seen before, he suspected Snape was allowing it so that there was less of a chance of his precious dungeon being destroyed.

Hermione had already moved her stuff to the table Harry was sitting at, and was currently going over the list of ingredients with a fine-toothed comb to make sure she wouldn't miss anything when she went to the supply closet. They were both surprised when Draco Malfoy came up to them and asked if he could work with them. Harry instantly blurted out, "Why?"

The almighty Slytherin appeared to be wrestling with his upbringing, and it took a few moments for him to get the words that he wanted to say out of his mouth. "I am uncertain about a few aspects of the potion and thought that working with Granger might clarify them for me."

His eyes showed that he hated asking for help, and Harry knew the only reason he was showing this little bit of weakness was the fact that he wouldn't remember it later. Hermione realized this also, and she smiled encouragingly. "I'm sure Harry and I wouldn't mind if you worked with us."

Harry was surprised to find that he didn't mind, and was happy that Hermione didn't either. "Just make sure I don't put something in it that doesn't belong there, okay?" he said, grinning.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, his expression clearly stating that he would keep him far away from the cauldron while they made it. "You do the preparation while Granger and I actually make it."

A sigh of relief was the only response the blond received, and that was fine with him. He hated people who chattered too much while he was concentrating on his work. That was why he was insanely happy that Pansy wasn't in the class. Too many times he had almost messed up simply because she wouldn't shut up.

Quickly, the three of them, two Gryffindors and the Slytherin of all Slytherins, got to work. They worked quietly and efficiently; the only times they spoke were when Harry was instructed to prepare an ingredient a certain way, such as chopping it or slicing it, or when Draco asked Hermione a question, such as, "Now, I'm puzzled about why the Gorgon's talon goes in before the Veela hair. Wouldn't that destroy the potency of the talon?"

Snape was shocked, to say the least, when he saw them working together. And to see them actually working _well_ together, that blew him away. Certainly, Draco and Granger were the smartest in the class, but they despised each other, and to have Potter working in the same group, actually working, was astonishing! Potter usually destroyed anything he got his grimy hands on, but here he was, doing exactly as he was told. He and Draco hadn't even had one word of anger shared between them, either! It was mind-boggling!

Oh, drat, he had better go stop that idiot Boot from adding the Dragon scale before he stirred the potion thirteen times counter-clockwise . . .

* * *

The rest of the day went very well for Harry, even if Ron was acting oddly around him. The redhead had conveniently blocked the fact that it was Malfoy he had slept with, and was now stuck on the fact that he was gay. "But, _boys_, Harry? How can you like _boys_?"

Harry didn't know how to explain it to him, and thus the next to youngest Weasley kept looking at him askance. And then Hermione had to say, "Well, Ron, it's just like how girls like boys. It's instinct."

"But _he's_ a boy!"

That had ended that conversation, with Hermione now stumped, too. Ron was just a little too dimwitted sometimes and there were some things that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get him to understand.

At supper, that was when things got hilarious. Harry was enjoying his meal of roast chicken with garlic-mashed potatoes, when he heard a screech from the Slytherin table. Pansy Parkinson stood next to Malfoy, an irate expression on her pug-faced features. "You dog!" she yelled, stomping her foot.

Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes. "No, Pansy, _you_ are the dog. A pug, to be exact."

"What did you just say!"

"You heard me, darling. You may be stupid, but you're not deaf," the Slytherin Prince told her, then took a bite of his delicious meal. Roast chicken was his favorite.

"I'm going to tell everyone you're a pouf!" she screeched, crossing her arms.

He swallowed his bite of food and set his fork down. "Pansy, you just did. You're voice is loud enough to raise the dead. Hmm, maybe that's how the Dark Lord rose again. He heard you screech and there he was, alive again."

That comment caused several of those gathered in the Great Hall to attempt to muffle their laughter. Harry didn't attempt to hide his, though. He burst out laughing, loudly, which thus caused Pansy's attention to turn to him. "Potter, I don't care if you think you're the best wizard out there, because I think you're a piece of trash half-blood who has no right to shag my Draco!"

He attempted to halt his laughter, although he still grinned broadly. "Your Draco? Parkinson, I think he's more mine than yours since I'm the one who made him scream."

"Potter!" That wasn't Pansy who shouted that. Draco Malfoy glared at him, a light flush staining his cheeks.

"Um, oops?" he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders. Malfoy merely crossed his arms and scowled blackly.

A familiar voice, near Harry, mumbled, "I think I'm going to be sick. He's a boy!"

Yup. It was Ron, obviously, since he was stuck on the boy issue. "Ron, yes, he's a boy. I like boys. If he was a girl, I wouldn't like him."

"You like Malfoy! Eurgh!" Okay, so apparently he was able to move past the boy issue . . . and onto the Malfoy issue.

"Yes, Ron. I know. I just said that."

Ron looked a bit green and he shouted, "But it's Malfoy! How could you, especially after what his father did to you!"

Suddenly, the hilarity of the situation was gone. Ron had just had to bring up that, hadn't he? Seriously, he told the redhead, "Because he is not his father. I don't hold people's parents' misdoings against them."

"But he's going to turn into his father one day, you just wait and see! He's a Malfoy!"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his best friend. "So, just because he's a Malfoy, he's going to turn into a Death Eater? So, because I'm related to the Dursleys, I'm going to start bashing on wizards and lock innocent children into cupboards?"

"No! That's different!"

"Oh really, how? Because I don't see one. We are what we choose to be. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you can't accept that, then I suggest you leave me alone."

Ron stared at him, stunned. Harry telling him to leave him alone? What was going on with him? He'd thought Harry was over Sirius' death!

Harry saw the look in Ron's eyes and scowled. "And don't you dare think this is because of Sirius! He has nothing to do with this!"

"Yes, he does. You're being like this because you miss him!" For once, Ron hit on the truth. Not Hermione, not anyone else, but him, Ron Weasley. And Harry hated him for it. Ron was supposed to stay ignorant and stay out of his business!

Harry's eyes scanned the Great Hall and noticed that everyone was watching their exchange avidly, even the teachers. He hated them all. "Oh, look everyone, poor Harry is acting out because he misses his precious godfather, who just happened to be the dangerous Azkaban escapee who supposedly murdered his parents. But didn't you know? Harry killed him, so maybe Harry is feeling guilty. Hmm, that must be it. I killed the only person who ever gave a rat's arse about me since my parents died, and so I'm behaving irrationally because I feel guilty that it was my fault. Wow, I just psychoanalyzed myself. Isn't that amazing? I must be –-"

Harry's next words were cut off by a furious blond-haired Slytherin, who picked him up, tossed him bodily over his shoulder, and carried him out of the Great Hall. Too speechless to say anything, Harry merely gave Malfoy's backside a very dark scowl.

Once they were several corridors away, Malfoy dumped Harry onto the ground, a furious light in his silver eyes. "Potter, you blood, harebrained idiot! You did not kill the mutt! I know it, you know, so get the fuck over it!"

Harry jumped to his feet, his cheeks flushed with anger. "You have no right to say _anything_ about Sirius to me!"

"You're right! I don't! But I'm going to anyway because you're being such a fag about it! I don't give a shit that it was your stupidity that made you believe the Dark Lord's vision! It was Black's decision to go after you in the Department of Mysteries! He chose to go! And I know for a fact that it was my bitch of an aunt who sent him falling into the Veil, not you! So don't go pulling that pity-me-because-I-killed-the-only-person-who-loved-me crap, because it doesn't wash!" Draco yelled, forcing the black-haired boy to listen to him.

"Shut up! Just shut up!" Harry screamed, shoving at him as hard as he could. Draco went flying into the wall, his head cracking against the hard stone. He slid to the ground and stayed there, his eyes closed.

Harry's face went white as he realized just what he'd done. His anger instantly vanished and he rushed to Malfoy's side. "Oh shit! I'm so sorry, Malfoy!"

Draco's eyes opened slowly and Harry could tell that he was dazed. Weakly, he murmured, "Fuck, Potter . . . that hurt." His hand reached up to feel the back of his head and it came away wet with blood.

Harry gulped as he saw how much blood was on Malfoy's hand. "Oh fuck! I'd better get you to the infirmary!"

The other boy merely stared at his hand, frowning.

Oh yeah, he had better get him to the infirmary immediately. He lifted the blond into his arms, unsurprised when his eyes rolled into the back of the head as he fell unconscious. Harry's only thought as he carried Malfoy to Madame Pomfrey was, _Holy crap, he's going to murder me when he wakes up!_

Madame Pomfrey was irate when he showed up with the still-unconscious boy in his arms. After she performed the healing spells on Draco, she ordered Harry to watch over him as punishment for being the one to hurt him. She didn't know that Harry wouldn't have left Malfoy's bedside for the world.

For the second time that day, Harry looked upon Malfoy's sleeping features. Again, he wondered at the feelings seeing those aristocratic features evoked. He couldn't understand it, but his heart clenched painfully every time Malfoy's chest rose and fell. Seeing his eyelids flutter in sleep made him feel more sorrow than he had ever felt, and that was saying something, especially considering the emotional intensity of his outburst earlier.

It frightened him. He hated Malfoy, didn't he? Didn't he?

But then why was it that he couldn't find any hatred in his heart when he saw the way Malfoy's hair lay spread out on the pillow, the way his fingers clutched at the thin sheet covering him, the way . . .

Bloody hell! What was wrong with him? He wasn't supposed to be feeling like this! He was supposed to hate Malfoy! And Malfoy was supposed to hate him! But then why had Malfoy looked him so sorrowfully when he had been shouting at him earlier? Why had he cared enough to try and push his way past Harry's grief? Why?

"Potter?" Malfoy's hoarse voice jerked Harry out of his conflicted thoughts. He turned to the silver-eyed Slytherin, suddenly feeling fearful of what would happen next between them. He wanted Malfoy to yell at him for throwing him against the wall, wanted him to say how much he hated him. But he also feared that Malfoy was going to do exactly that.

Draco wondered at Potter's silence and the way he was looking at him with fear lurking in his emerald eyes. What did he have to fear from him? "Potter, say something. You're scaring me."

He didn't answer, and that made Draco even more worried. "Potter? Stop it!"

After a few moments, the Gryffindor finally spoke. "Malfoy, do you hate me?"

What an odd question, of course . . . no, wait. Fuck it all, why couldn't he find that familiar emotion skulking about in his heart? Where was it? It couldn't be gone! He hated Potter; he had to! He had to!

But he didn't.

Unable to meet Potter's knowing emerald eyes, he mumbled, "No."

"I don't hate you either, and I don't know why. I still hated you this morning, I know that much. But right now, I don't," Harry said to him, his voice puzzled.

Silence settled between the two boys until Harry spoke again a few minutes later. "You know what I just realized? I don't want to forget today. I should want to, but for some odd reason, I don't."

Draco, in that moment, knew that he didn't want to either. He had shagged Potter. He had told Pansy to get lost. He had basically announced the fact that he was gay. He had asked Granger for help. He had confessed that he no longer hated Potter. And he didn't want to forget any of it.

His eyes swung to the clock hanging on the wall across the room and gasped. It was eight o'clock! "Potter, we have ten minutes left!"

They stared at each other, their thoughts the same. _They had to find a way to stop the spell!_

Panicked and uncaring that he was still a little woozy, Draco leapt out of the infirmary bed and ran towards the door. Potter was close behind him, and they raced towards the library. With five minutes left until they would forget, they shoved the large doors open and headed towards the nearly hidden area where Braden Conlan's portrait hung.

Braden was in the portrait this time, a sorrowful look in his stunning violet eyes. Harry was the one to speak first, his voice breathy and his words coming out in a rush. "Braden, you have to tell us the counter spell!"

The young man looked at him with that sorrow and whispered, "There is no counter spell."

Draco clenched his hands into fists. "There has to be!"

"I'm sorry, but there isn't. In a few moments, you will forget everything that has happened these past twenty-four hours."

Harry, uncaring that he was in the Library and that he had to be quiet, shouted, "But I can't forget! You don't understand! I _can't forget_!"

As soon as he finished speaking, his started feeling oddly. He felt dizzy and his thought processes were slowing down. No, it was the spell!

Even as the two boys began to forget, Braden murmured, ""The spell of forgetting can only be enacted by a great desire, and it is thus with its opposite. If the desire is great enough, anything forgotten can be remembered."

But even as that was said, it was forgotten, as the powerful spell erased every last memory of the past twenty-four hours from the two boys, and everyone else.

Harry glared at the boy in front of him. He had no idea why he was in front of Braden's empty portrait, but with Malfoy there, too, it had to have something to do with him. The stupid ferret. "Leave me alone, will you? I'm sick of you bothering me when I just want to be alone!"

For some odd reason, there was a tiny whisper at the back of his mind that whispered, _No, you're not. _He crushed the traitorous thought immediately. Where had that come from? It was ridiculous!

Malfoy scowled blackly, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. "You? Why can't _you _leave _me_ alone? You're always standing there with that superior, I'm the Golden Boy, look on your stupid face!"

"What about you, with that stupid, pureblood smirk on your face that says your better because your ancestors practiced incest? I hate you!"

"I hate you, too, so you have nothing to worry about, Pot-head!" With that, the Slytherin stalked off, his movements jerky in his fury.

Harry growled, hating the prat even more. Why did Malfoy have to be so bloody rude? He could actually be handsome if his face wasn't twisted in that awful smirk! Gah! Perish the thought! The ferret could never be handsome. _No, but he could certainly be beautiful_, his mind whispered traitorously.

He kicked the nearest chair, furious at his thoughts. No! Malfoy was a git, and that was that! He wasn't handsome; he wasn't beautiful; he was just a pain-in-the-ass bastard who wouldn't leave him the fuck alone.

Harry collapsed into the chair he had kicked only seconds before, suddenly exhausted beyond all belief. Strangely, he felt a small thread of sadness curling through his belly. But what did he have to be sad about? Guilt was the emotion tied to Sirius, not sadness. So why did this emotion tug at him? And why did he feel so bloody awful about it?

* * *

Influences While Writing: My Chemical Romance, Cold, and Breaking Benjamin

A/N: Well, this should hold you for a while. A chapter that's over 5000 words long. It took me an entire four hours to write!

I know I should really be working on an older story, but this one is gripping me like no tomorrow. I can't stop thinking about it! Luckily, I plan on it being somewhere around seven or eight chapters long. I'd planned on six, but I just finished chapter five, and Irealized I still need to get a lot said and done before I wrap the story up.

Please review this chapter, since it took a lot out of me to write. I got a lot done in this chapter, and it shows in the fact that I'm exhausted. Plus, I've some goodies for you in Chapter Five. Something interesting in revealed about Malfoy, and you get a deeplook into Harry's thoughts.

Have a nice day!

Roslyn.


	5. There's Something Missing

Author's Note: HBP does not exist in this story. I refuse, at the moment, to write any story with HBP involved. That may change, but currently, my mind refuses to accept that continuance of the Harry Potter books. So please enjoy a nice, AU story set during Harry's sixth year.

Warning: Themes of angst, moderate slash, swearing, etc. Also be warned that the rating has just shot up from PG-13 to R (or using the rating scale on this site, T to M)

Pairing: The only pairing I ever do, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A few sub-pairings of Ron/Hermione, attempted Ginny/Harry (and by attempted, I mean _only attempted_)

Summary: Harry finds a spell that will allow him to have one day with no consequences because no one will remember it, including him. But things happen that he could never have predicted. Does he really want to forget after all is said and done? HPDM, 6th, no HBP

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc.

* * *

**One Perfect Something**

**There's Something Missing**

_October 20 . . . _

It was Saturday, and Harry lay in his bed in the Gryffindor dormitories, scowling up at the ceiling. His friends were going to Hogsmeade, but he had no desire to go with them. He usually loved going to the quaint village and having a soothing Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, but today, he just couldn't find it in him to leave his bed. He wasn't ill, but he wanted to be. Then he'd have an excuse as to why he wasn't going and his friends wouldn't be looking at him with those pitying stares. He hated their pity. Hated it.

He heard the sounds of laughter from outside and he dragged himself from his bed to look out the window. The students were heading off to Hogsmeade; their faces alight with happiness and excitement. Harry hated them.

It was odd. Before, he would have looked at their smiling faces and simply not cared. But now, every happy look made him want to scream at the unfairness of it all. How dare they be happy when he was so broken up inside?

He couldn't understand why he felt that way all of a sudden. All he knew was that he liked feeling that way. His hatred made the pain inside him dull a little bit, made it not so bad. And yet . . .

And yet he knew that it was wrong to feel that way. He knew it, but there was something missing in him that had been there only two days ago. He knew it, but something was missing. Something vital.

But what? What could be missing? Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He'd had a tussle with Malfoy, eaten his meals in silence, and done his schoolwork. It had been a perfectly ordinary day. So why did he feel like he was forgetting something?

He sighed and turned away from the window. Now that everyone was gone, he could wander the castle in peace. Oh, he knew a few teachers had stayed, but for the most part, the castle was empty.

Leaving his robe lying on top of his trunk, he grabbed his wand and his magicked cd player and left the dormitory. Dressed in only a black, long-sleeved muggle t-shirt that had his favorite band's name emblazoned on it and a pair of baggy jeans, he vacated Gryffindor Tower. His black Converse shoes were silent on the stone floors of the school as he wandered. Music blared in his ears, the only noise in his silent world. He liked it that. The music gave him peace, distanced him from the world that hurt.

_Until you fight, until you fall_

_Until the end of everything at all_

_Until you die, until you're alive_

He mouthed the lyrics to his favorite song, lost in the words screaming in his ears. For some reason, the song called to him now more than ever, as if it meant something in real life. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that the words were very important. Intent on figuring out _why_, he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings and he crashed into something.

When that something muttered an expletive, he amended his words. He'd knocked into someone, not something. _But then again_, he thought to himself when he saw whom it is he'd run into, _Malfoy could be counted as a something._

"Bloody hell, Potter, watch where the fuck you're going!" the blond-haired Slytherin shouted, getting to his feet. He furiously brushed at his expensive, slightly baggy jeans, attempting to get the almost invisible dirt off. Then he pulled his short-sleeved black button-down top back into place over his crimson t-shirt that had the words, _The Used_, scrawled on it.

Harry simply glared at him, adjusting his headphones from where they'd slipped off his ears and down around his neck. Jared Leto's vocals resounded from the round ear pieces, since Harry had the volume level at its highest.

_Don't save me, don't save me _

_Cuz I don't care_

_Don't save me, don't save me,_

_Cuz I'm not okay_

Draco's eyes instantly narrowed, fixing in on the headphones. "How do you know them? They're American."

Of course, Harry instantly wondered how _he_ knew that. 30 Seconds to Mars was an American _muggle_ band, and Draco Malfoy, pureblood extraordinaire, should have had no idea who they were. "How do you know that?"

The Slytherin flushed and looked away from him. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Potter."

Harry immediately scoffed at this. "You're a pureblood ferret who enjoys hurting others. Nothing more, nothing less."

His mind instantly protested, although he somehow felt that he'd said the words "nothing more, nothing less" before. But where? And why?

Anger flashed in Malfoy's silver eyes. "You know nothing. Listen closely to the lyrics of that song you obviously know by heart and maybe your puny brain will comprehend something beyond pitying yourself."

"I don't pity myself!" Harry shouted, clenching his fists.

The blond merely whispered the words, "_Until you give, until you've used. Until you're lost, until you lose. Until you see how could you believe_." 

Then he stalked off, the silver hoop in his ear glittering in the torchlight as he went. Harry frowned after him. What had he meant by saying those specific lyrics of the song, conveniently when they were being sung into his ears by his cd player? That song obviously had special meaning for Malfoy, which was doubly curious.

Puzzled, he continued on his way through the corridors of Hogwarts. Putting the song on repeat, he listened to it over and over again as he mulled over the incident with Malfoy. The blond had been wearing muggle clothes, expensive ones, but muggle nonetheless. And they had been punk clothes, as evidenced by the band t-shirt under his button-down. _The Used_ was another good American band that Harry often listened to. It was curious that Malfoy was into the same kind of music, especially considering that they were so different and that Malfoy should have despised anything and everything muggle. Harry also figured that Malfoy would never have had the chance to discover muggle music since most pureblood families banned that kind of stuff in their households. Although, he could have had the chance after his father had been thrown into Azkaban early on in the summer holidays.

_Until you give, until you've used_

_Until you're lost, until you lose_

_Until you see how could you believe_

Those had been the lyrics that Malfoy had spoken, and Harry knew that he had chosen them for a reason. _Until you give, until you've used_. Those words brought to mind someone being used by someone else; after all they've given to that person. Could that be referencing his father? Hmm. That could be it, and it certainly tied in with the next words of the song. _Until you're lost, until you lose. _Perhaps he felt lost after his father was thrown into prison. _Until you see how could you believe_. Maybe he had realized what a monster his father was and was shocked that he could have believed in him so deeply. It worked. It fit.

But it made no sense. Malfoy was still a complete and utter jerk. He still insulted people, and was, in fact, worse than he had been in years previous. He still lorded over everyone as if he were some superior being. He still hated Harry.

Just moments ago, he had alluded to being human, and in a way, that meant he alluded to having something in common with him. And yet he still fought him.

Harry shook his head. What had his thoughts been trying to say? Of course Malfoy still hated him. A person could have something in common with another and still hate them. And besides, Harry still hated Malfoy, so it was all good.

Wasn't it?

He sighed to himself. His brain was sure being disturbing lately, giving all kinds of weird doubts and such. After a while, it became kind of hard to ignore, although ignore it he did. These thoughts were completely ridiculous and thus of no importance. Then why had he felt a tug in his heart when he saw the flash of pain in Malfoy's eyes when he'd said Malfoy was just a ferret that enjoyed hurting others?

_This is my chance, this is myself_

Those lyrics to the song popped into his head and he frowned. He himself often felt a connection to that line of the song. It made him want to show everyone who he really was, show them the real Harry Potter. Because they didn't know the real Harry Potter. No one did. He hid behind his mask, hurting inside, pretending that he was all right. But he wasn't all right.

A voice disturbed him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see the Headmaster standing in front of him. He immediately slipped off his headphones and turned his cd player off. "Hello, Professor. I'm sorry, I didn't catch what you said."

The aging Headmaster smiled at him, his eyes twinkling. "That's quite all right, Harry. I was just asking if you'd like to accompany me to my office for a chat."

Although Harry really didn't feel like talking to anyone right now, especially the Headmaster he was still angry with over his manipulations the year before, he nodded. "I don't mind."

"Good, good."

They walked to his office in a companionable silence. Once they reached it, Dumbledore motioned for Harry to take a seat. Harry complied, wondering what he wanted to talk about. He hoped it wasn't about anything serious. He was in luck. Dumbledore was smiling when he opened his mouth to speak, and he said, "Have you ever been to Mars? I have, and it's a funny coincidence, because it does take thirty seconds to reach the planet."

Harry was dumbstruck. His Headmaster sure was random sometimes. "No, this is the name of a band I like."

Dumbledore nodded, looking interested. "Oh, is it a muggle band? I quite like muggle bands. _Bohemian Rhapsody _by Queen is my favorite song." He hummed a few bars of the song, his voice amazingly in tune.

Well, Harry hadn't expected that. Dumbledore was also into muggle music? "They're pretty good, although I'm mostly into modern music."

"Ah, yes, I'm quite sure you are. But, as much as I love discussing good music, I must say that it is not precisely what I asked you up here for."

For a moment, Harry was worried that the Headmaster did indeed want to talk about serious matter, but then the old man surprised him by asking, "Harry, do you enjoy wearing your school uniform every day?"

Harry wrinkled his nose in thought. "I don't mind wearing it."

"But do you enjoy it?" the Headmaster asked, popping a lemon drop into his mouth.

Harry shook his head, knowing Dumbledore would know if he were lying. And he would be lying is he said he enjoyed wearing his uniform every day.

"I thought so. I was observing the students heading off to Hogsmeade earlier and saw that they were quite pleased to be wearing their own clothes. They appeared to be more comfortable, and took delight in showing others what they liked to wear. Do you share this feeling?"

Of course, Harry even wondered why Dumbledore asked. He knew the answer. Heck, it was staring him right in the face, in the muggle clothes Harry was wearing, even though he hadn't gone to Hogsmeade. "Yeah."

The wise, although that was debatable sometimes, Headmaster grinned and clapped his hands together. "It's settled then! From now on, everyone will be allowed to wear whatever he or she wants under their robes as long as it is school appropriate."

This announcement caused Harry to stare at him, dumbstruck. What? Dumbledore was getting rid of their uniforms? But this was the United Kingdom. People were stuck in the old ways, which meant almost every school made their students wear uniforms. "But won't the Board of Directors have something say about that?"

"Ah, phooey. They'll see how happy the students are and agree that it's for the best."

Harry didn't agree with that assumption, but he did nothing to dissuade the powerful wizard of that. He thought that the whole "no uniform" idea was brilliant, even if a little random.

"Well, I've got to get to work on a dress code now, so off you go, Harry boy. Have a fantastic day!" Dumbledore told him, putting another lemon drop in his mouth.

The Gryffindor sixth year nodded and left the Headmaster's office. He wondered at Dumbledore's sanity, but dismissed the thought. As long as he kept himself occupied with things that didn't involve prying into Harry's business, he could do whatever he wanted.

Harry slipped his headphones back over his ears and turned his cd player on, letting himself distance himself from reality once again. He couldn't deny that he was happy that he could wear whatever he wanted underneath his robes now, but he didn't like staying in the real world for too long. No matter how happy he ever got, it always disappeared too fast if he stayed in the real world. The real world hurt too much.

_Cuz I'm not okay_

He wasn't okay, and that was the problem. He was messed up inside, and there was nothing he could do to fix himself. He knew he was too sensitive. He knew he shouldn't let things get to him the way they did. He knew, but he couldn't change himself. He was broken, and he would remain that way.

* * *

Influence: 30 Seconds to Mars (yes, the song that keeps being featured in this story) 

Well, this chapter is significantly shorter than the last one. I hope you don't mind, but I decided that ending the chapter was best. You shouldn't mind, since I've been writing this story like a man possessed (even though I'm not a man). Also note that this chapter is the approximate length of every other chapter in this story, except for the insanely large Chapter Four.

Ahem, now that we've once again established my weirdness (although some would call it uniqueness), onto my notes. And yes, I do have some notes . . . for once.

It may seem out of character that Draco is wearing muggle clothes, as Harry suggests, but yet again, it really is not. I just haven't openly revealed Draco's reason, although I've certainly hinted at it. The next chapter will be more eye opening.

You may be wondering why Dumbledore randomly instituted the no-uniform policy. Don't worry; he hasn't gone insane. His behavior is part my master plan, the plan that involves the manipulative Headmaster knows something the readers (and everyone in the story) don't. Yes, this is my Slytherin side showing yet again. For some odd reason, caffeine makes me slightly evil and definitely sneaky.

I would really like to take a moment to thank everyone who has so generously reviewed this story. I'm in love with it and it makes me happy to know other people feel the same way! Keep telling me what you think; it really motivates me to give you an update sooner, since I'm so obviously writing the story a few chapters ahead of posting.

Have a great day!

Roslyn.


	6. Pieces of You

Warning: Themes of angst, moderate slash, swearing, suicide (minor character), etc.

Pairing: The only pairing I ever do, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A few sub-pairings of Ron/Hermione, attempted Ginny/Harry (and by attempted, I mean _only attempted_)

Summary: Harry finds a spell that will allow him to have one day with no consequences because no one will remember it, including him. But things happen that he could never have predicted. Does he really want to forget after all is said and done? HPDM, 6th, no HBP

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc. I do own the poetry featured here, though.

* * *

**One Perfect Something**

**Pieces of You**

_October 20 . . ._

At supper that night, Dumbledore made the announcement about the uniforms. The Great Hall broke into applause, although most of the teachers looked less than thrilled. They would have to put up with the outrageous outfits their students wore all of the time instead of once a week? It would be torture, pure torture!

Harry rolled his eyes at the enthusiasm of the student body, instead focusing on pushing his food around on his plate. Once again, he wasn't hungry, but he didn't want his friends to notice that. He'd already almost had Hermione on his case at breakfast because she'd noticed he was only eating a single piece of toast.

"Harry, why aren't you eating?" a concerned, feminine voice asked him.

Damn it, he'd thought it was working. He turned to Hermione, a lie ready on the tip of his tongue. "I had a snack while you guys were at Hogsmeade, and I guess it filled me up more than I'd thought."

She bought it, and he should have been relieved, but for some odd reason, he wasn't. He was angry that she'd believed it so easily. Confused, he set down his fork and let his eyes wander the room. Smiles adorned the faces of many students, but there was one person whose face remained stony, impassive. Draco Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table, his silverware untouched and his plate empty. Instead of eating and enjoying the inane chatter going on, he had his head propped on his hand and was observing everyone else. Like Harry.

His eyes were ice cold and empty, and Harry knew that he was curled up deep inside himself. With the snow in his eyes, he pretended that he was merely acting arrogant and superior, like he always did, even though it wasn't the truth. Why hadn't Harry seen the truth before?

Disturbed that he had made an insight about the boy he'd hated for over five years, Harry looked away. Little did he know that Malfoy had actually been covertly watching him, anger swelling in his breast that yet again perfect Potter had lived up to his name, that yet again he had pretended to be the innocent Gryffindor who knew not of depression. The resentment burned inside the cold-eyed Slytherin as he saw his rival slide off the hook easily, like he always did.

An idea rose to the surface, and Draco smirked. He would unmask Potter for the tortured and depressed youth he was. He would show everyone just how dark their Golden Boy really was. It was a perfect plan and it would make him feel better, especially after that incident earlier when Potter had so rudely maligned him. He ignored the small tendril of protest that rose up in his mind; he refused to feel regret for his actions, especially regret towards Saint Potter.

After supper, Draco warded off Pansy's advances and waited for the Golden Trio to leave the Great Hall. Really, he was not interested in Pansy's generous attributes and did not want to go up to her dorm and have meaningless sex with her. First of all, she looked like a pug with breasts, and second, he was completely homosexual. Besides, he had to follow Potter and his friends so he could start that lovely fight with the Boy Wonder.

He lazily followed the three Gryffindors out into the corridor, smirking at how easy this was going to be. Granger was admonishing the Weasel about homework or something ridiculous like that; really, they were in sixth year and the idiot was not about to change his ways and become a good student. Potter lagged behind the pair, his eyes on the ground and his shoulders hunched. If his friends cared to look behind them, they'd become rightly worried. But they didn't, and so Potter got away with his wretched hiding yet again.

Oh, how that was going to change!

"Hey Pot-head, is it true that if someone falls through the Veil, they fall forever?" He decided to start with something tame. On the verbal cruelty scale, it would have rated a two out of five.

Potter didn't look up; instead he stopped moving and his shoulders tensed. His friends turned around, though, twin glares on their faces. Eh, it was a start. Now for a three out of five. "I heard that it's hell because they know they're falling, but they can't do anything to stop it, and it never ends."

This time, the raven-haired Gryffindor lifted his head to set blazing emerald eyes on him. They burned fiercely with hatred. Draco's smirk grew. "How does it feel to know that you were the one to cause his fall?" Four out of five. Working on someone's guilt was pretty harsh, and Draco loved it.

The fire in Potter's eyes flared even hotter and he opened his lips to growl, "Don't you dare speak about this to me, Malfoy! Your father was as much to blame!"

Draco felt a twist in his gut at the mention of Lucius. He hated that bastard for what he'd done to him and despised any mention of the man. It never ceased to infuriate him. But this confrontation was about Potter, not him. He wasn't about to let the Golden Boy turn this onto him. "True, but you loved the mutt. Lucius didn't. Doesn't the guilt just eat at you?"

Weasley interrupted any reply Harry might have made, and reply Harry would have, with an insult to burn even the cruelest person's ears. Draco wanted to hear it, knew it would have been good, but Weasley just had to interfere. "Shut up, Malfoy! You're a nasty git who deserves to rot in Azkaban with your bastard of a father!"

Heat burned in Draco's stomach and he clenched his fists. How dare that fuckwit of a Gryffindor say that to him? He had never done anything remotely deserving of being sent to Azkaban! He couldn't help the words that slipped off his tongue. "I don't now, but with a flick of my wand I would. And I'd have the pleasure of seeing your rotting corpse, so it'd be worth it. Ready to test me?"

At the mention of killing someone, Harry's anger exploded. He'd seen enough death, and he knew Malfoy was pissed off enough to do something like that. He'd regret it, since he wouldn't be able to carry out his Death Eater duties, but he'd do if pushed hard enough. And Ron was enough of an idiot to push him past his limit. Harry lunged at the Slytherin, hell in his eyes. "That wand comes out of your pocket and I will fucking murder you first!"

He didn't see the flash of satisfaction in Malfoy's eyes as his fist connected with his chin. All he knew was that he wanted to pummel the prat. He knew his friends had to be horrified that he was the one to start the physical violence, especially when an insult would have worked just as well, but he didn't care. Malfoy was going down. He'd had enough of the arrogant fucker messing with him and his friends when he had no right to.

Draco had to hide a smile of glee as he punched Potter in the nose. Then the sound of the cartilage breaking and the sight of the blood pouring down his face was enough to make that smile appear. "Aw, does that hurt, Potty?"

The Golden Boy then proceeded to shove him as hard as he could, which was pretty hard. Draco went flying into the unyielding stone of the wall behind him, his head meeting the indestructible surface with a crack. He slid down the wall, suddenly too weak to stand. He felt dizzy and saw black spots in his vision. Still, he was happy that he'd gotten Potter to break. And this move, actually tossing someone against a wall, would horrify his goody-goody friends. Good.

Then he lost consciousness.

Harry stared at what he'd done with horror in his emerald eyes. He hadn't meant to _throw_ Malfoy against the wall! Hearing his friends' choked cries, he gulped. They'd seen him lost control; now they knew that he wasn't fine. They knew!

Swallowing his fear at the fact that his game was up, he hurried over to Malfoy and knelt beside the unconscious boy. He touched his hand to the back of the Slytherin's head and it came away wet with blood; very wet. He cringed and quickly moved to gather him in his arms. Surprised at how light he was for his height of approximately 5'11, he carried him down the corridor towards the infirmary. Hermione and Ron didn't follow.

Madame Pomfrey was furious when he walked through the infirmary doors. She immediately made him set Malfoy onto a bed and began a scan of his injuries. The bruise forming on his chin and the bad wound on his head were enough to tip her off that there had been another fight. Her lips pursed into a thin line and her eyes cold, she healed the wounds. Then she turned to Harry, a glare rightfully aimed at him. "You could have killed him if you'd thrown him even a fraction harder! Have you no sense!"

He looked at the ground, unable to meet her irate gaze. "Sorry. I didn't mean to."

A hand went to wipe the blood that was seeping from his nose and into his mouth, but it was the hand he'd checked Malfoy's wound with, and so he only smeared Malfoy's blood with his own. He looked at his hand, frowning and not just a little bit dizzy. He hadn't thought Malfoy had hit him that hard.

The nurse sighed and healed his broken nose. Unfortunately, she couldn't heal his dizziness, and so she forced him into the bed beside the Malfoy boy's. "You'll have to stay the night since I don't want you traveling the halls alone and dizzy. You could fall down the stairs and then there'd be more work for me and . . ."

Continuing her rant, she stalked away and into her office. Harry knew she would brew a hot cup of tea in an attempt to calm down. It would probably work. Although she was strict, she was a warm-hearted person at the core.

He pulled the starched white sheets up to his chin and turned over. Being dizzy sure made him tired. With guilt fresh in his mind, over Sirius and now over Malfoy, he slipped into a restless sleep, an odd thought swirling in his mind, _I could swear that's the second time I've carried Malfoy to the infirmary after tossing him into a wall . . ._

* * *

Several hours later, Harry awoke in the darkness to the feeling that something wasn't right. Frowning, he sat up and fumbled for his glasses. It was after a few moments' search that he realized that they were still on his face. Muttering at what an idiot he was, he turned on the lamp beside his bed and gasped. Malfoy was gone!

His eyes quickly sought out the nearest clock and saw that it was one AM. So, why was Malfoy not in his bed? Especially since he should still have been dizzy and lightheaded from his obvious concussion?

He didn't know, but then he noticed a piece of parchment lying amidst the rumpled sheets of the infirmary cot. Slipping off his single sheet, Harry got out of his bed and made his way over to look at the paper. There were tiny wet spots on the parchment, and Harry got an awful feeling in his chest. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. Malfoy never cried.

Clumsily, he picked up the sheet of paper and began reading:

**To Draco L. Malfoy,**

**St. Mungo's Hospital regrets to inform you that patient Narcissa O. Malfoy, admitted to the Psychiatric Ward on June 29 of this year for severe clinical depression and schizophrenic tendencies, committed suicide at ten thirty-seven on October 20. Earlier in the day, Mrs. Black suffered from a schizophrenic episode in which she believed she was pregnant and was being tortured with the _Cruciatius _curse. It is believed that the aftereffects of this episode caused the onset of a severe depressive episode and Mrs. Black committed suicide by leaping from the roof of the hospital building. A suicide note was left, and it reads as follows:**

**_Dearest Draco,_**

_**I cannot live with myself any longer. The guilt of my deeds and those of your father eat away at my soul, and I know that there is nothing I can do to erase their foul presence. Tonight, I will end this pain. **_

_**Please do not believe that you have in any way caused my suffering. You are the one joy in my life. You give my life meaning when there would be none at all. I know that my death will hurt you, and it is another abominable deed that I feel guilty for. But I cannot bear to live any longer, no matter how much I love you. **_

_**All I ask is that you do not follow in the steps of your parents. There are some things that taint your soul beyond repair, and that is not something I wish for you. Live your life right and do not bow before anyone's command. You are a Malfoy, remember that. Remember what that name meant before your father almost destroyed it. **_

_**Your loving mother, **_

_**Narcissa**_

**Mrs. Black's personal effects have been entrusted into the care of Gringott's and you may pick them up at your convenience. **

**We are sorry for your loss. **

**St. Mungo's Hospital**

Harry stared at the letter, his stomach churning. He knew that Narcissa had not been schizophrenic at all and that it was almost one hundred percent likely that she had been hit with the _Cruciatius _curse while pregnant. But he also knew that information like that was probably not something the Malfoys had wanted anyone to know, and so the schizophrenic diagnosis was a perfect excuse for any damaging flashbacks.

He tossed the piece of parchment back onto Malfoy's abandoned infirmary bed, feeling worse than he had in months. Yes, his own problems were pretty bad, but Malfoy's were worse. His father was in Azkaban, and there were rumors he would be receiving the Dementor's Kiss soon. His mother had been admitted to the psychiatric ward of St. Mungo's soon after Lucius' sentencing, and now she had committed suicide. Draco had to be in bad shape.

Uncaring that it was Malfoy who had said some really cruel things earlier, that it was Malfoy that was his hated rival, he left to infirmary to go find the boy who was probably in danger of doing something stupid. One did not leave someone whose parent had just committed suicide alone.

Once outside the infirmary, Harry realized two things; he didn't have the Marauder's Map, and he was very far from Gryffindor Tower where it was located. He sighed, wondering how the hell he'd find Malfoy. Luckily, he remembered the Point-Me spell they had learned a while back. Pulling out his wand, he spoke the spell and began following the direction his wand led him.

He wandered the corridors for twenty minutes, until he came upon a small courtyard on the first floor. It was almost hidden by the outcropping of two corners of the building, and Harry would not have found it if he wasn't led to it. It was perfect for someone to break down in and have no one be the wiser.

_Lie awake in bed at night_

_Think about your life_

_Do you want to be different_

Draco stood in the center of the courtyard, and it was raining. His clothes were soaked clear through, but he didn't look like he cared. His face was turned towards the angry skies, and he was shouting at it. Well, not at it, but towards it. Pain was evident in his hoarse voice, broken by the sheer intensity of his emotions and the fact that he had probably been yelling for quite a while. Harry knew from experience, and he felt sympathy for the other boy.

" . . . No matter what I do, it's never good enough, is it? I try and I try, but you keep piling shit on me as if it's my fault my parents were fucking Death Eaters! It's not my fault! I didn't ask for them to go around murdering people who did nothing but be _lesser_ than them! And I don't want to be like them! So why are you punishing me? Why! I can't take it anymore! _I can't take it_!"

_Try to let go of the truth_

_The battles of your youth_

Harry stepped into the wet courtyard, stunned that Malfoy felt so strongly about the Death Eaters as he did. He'd had no idea that he was so against becoming one of them. He'd mistakenly thought, like everyone else, that he would grow up to be just like his parents.

_Cuz this is just a game_

_It's a beautiful lie _

_It's a perfect denial_

How wrong he'd been.

_Such a beautiful lie to believe in_

_So beautiful so, beautiful that makes me_

Malfoy must have had a sixth sense or something, because he stopped yelling and turned to face him. Despair and sorrow twisted his face, and his eyes were almost dead with the pain that lurked in their silver depths. He attempted a sneer, but failed miserably. "What, come to gloat about how the stupid ferret deserves all of this?"

Harry shook his head. "What would be the point? I know the truth, and it's that no one deserves pain like this."

Malfoy fell to his knees, defeated. Harry knew that tears dripped down his face, mixing with the rain. "Then why won't it stop?"

The raven-haired Gryffindor had no answer for him because he asked himself the same question every day. Why wouldn't the pain stop?

_It's time to forget about the past_

_To wash away what happened last_

Silence settled between them as the rain fell harder. Lightening streaked across the sky and thunder crashed in the heavens, and they ignored it all. The world could have been ending, and they wouldn't have noticed. Their inner pain was too great.

After several minutes, how many, they did not know, Draco lifted his glistening eyes to lock with his rival's. Harry hadn't even noticed he was starting to cry himself. "I picked that fight with you on purpose today. I didn't mean what I said, but I wanted you to fight me. I wanted you to hurt me."

Harry stared at him, frozen. "Why?" Why would Malfoy deliberately provoke him? Why would Malfoy _want_ him to hurt him?

"Because I hated that you felt the same pain I felt and yet you got away with hiding it like the good, little Golden Boy you are. I hated that no one knew how dark you really are. You're not their toy soldier, and I hated that you pretended to be. You're not their savior. You're not," the silver-eyed Slytherin told him, his voice raspy and filled with emotion.

_Hide behind that empty face_

_But that's too much to say_

_Cuz this is just a game_

Harry was taken aback by the sincerity in Malfoy's voice, and unbidden, a thought drifted to the surface of his mind. _He's right. I am not their savior. _And he was right. Draco Malfoy, son of the devil's right hand, and his enemy for almost six years, was right. He gazed into his molten silver eyes and realized why he felt that insane attraction to him. Out of all of the people he knew, Draco was the only one who understood him. He was the only one willing to dig past his mask and see the boy who wasn't the savior of the wizarding world. He was the only one who was honest to the point of brutality with him. Never, had he lied directly to him.

Wasn't it ironic? His friends lied to him, but his enemy hadn't.

Harry's emerald eyes slid from the blond's, unable to withstand the truth burning there. He dropped his head and stared down at the glistening wet cobblestones of the courtyard. Softly, almost whispering, he spoke, "You're right. I'm not their savior, but at the same time, I can't escape that destiny. Fate has dictated that I destroy Voldemort or die. How can I conscience letting such evil devastate everything that I've ever valued? How? Tell me, and maybe then I could stop being their bloody savior."

_It's a beautiful lie _

_It's a perfect denial_

He could taste the salt running into the corners of his mouth and he swallowed harshly. Why was he saying this to Malfoy? Why was he letting him _in_?

Shivering at the biting wind that had suddenly sprung up, he wrapped his arms around himself. He disregarded the fact that the wind had not changed in the several minutes he had been outside, and that his trembling was caused by something else. Something internal.

_Such a beautiful lie to believe in_

_So beautiful, beautiful lie that makes me_

Malfoy's voice carried across the courtyard, closer than before, and Harry looked up into stormy gray eyes. "I guess you can't, but you _can_ stop pretending to be the perfectly innocent and happy hero that everyone wants you to be. You aren't some idol they can worship, Potter. You're a goddamned sixteen year old with shitty luck, and that's all. Why do you fucking care what they think of you? Will having them find out you're not some Golden Boy like they want make you any less able to defeat the Dark Lord? Do you really think that?"

_Everyone's looking at me_

_I'm running around in circles_

Harry quirked an eyebrow, a sardonic glint in his emerald eyes. "Why do you care so much about what people think of _you_?"

A light flush appeared on the other boy's high cheekbones, apparent even in the dim lighting of the courtyard. "I'm a Malfoy. I have to be the way I am."

_A quiet desperation's building higher_

"And because I am the fucking Boy Wonder, as I've heard you call me before, I have to be the way I am, too," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders. They were starting to go in circles. Each asked the other why they were the way they were, and each replied with the answer that caused the questioning in the first place. It was a game.

_I've got to remember this is just a game_

It was a game, but both refused to let the other win. They refused to back down, even though they knew, they _knew,_ the other was right. It was a game, a beautiful game they could not lose. A beautiful, torturous game they could not afford to lose.

_So beautiful, so beautiful_

The sky lit up suddenly, throwing Malfoy's aristocratic features into stark relief. Harry's only thought just then was that he was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. The attraction for the other boy seared his nerve endings, his image burning itself into Harry's brain.

_It's a beautiful, a beautiful, beautiful_

And by the look in the other's liquid silver eyes, he knew the attraction wasn't one-sided. Thrilled and terrified at the same time, he took a stumbling step backwards. His breathing stuttered and his heart pounded. His eyes were trapped by Malfoy's molten orbs of glittering desire.

_So beautiful, beautiful_

Why couldn't he look away? He should be running far, far away as fast as he could. Why wasn't he moving? His limbs were frozen. He couldn't move.

Why couldn't he move?

_It's a beautiful, so beautiful, beautiful_

Why did he feel like seeing that terrible, beautiful look in Malfoy's eyes was the most natural thing in the world?

No. This wasn't possible. This wasn't natural. He hated Malfoy. Malfoy hated him.

_It's a beautiful lie_

"I hate you," he whispered brokenly. Why was he moving towards him?

_It's a perfect denial_

Malfoy was moving towards him, too. "I know you do. I hate you just as much."

_Such a beautiful lie to believe in_

"Then why?" His voice was a mere murmur, torn up with emotion, with unvoiced questions attempting to make themselves known in those two words. Then why? Why?

_So beautiful, beautiful that makes me_

"You're so beautiful, did you know that? I hate you so much, I want to make you bleed, but I want you so much, I want to make you scream for me."

Harry had the oddest feeling that Malfoy had said something of the same sort before. But where? And why? Where were these strange, half-memories coming from?

He sighed, and it was a gasping sound. "I can't. I can't do this."

Both of them knew that he meant something entirely different. They both knew he was talking about everything else; everything else, not this. _Not this._

"Then don't."

"I have to! You know I have to!"

It was a game. Their stupid, fucking game.

They both knew they had to do it.

They knew.

And they died a little more inside.

Standing inches apart in the cold rain, the sky crashing its fury above them, they killed off a little more of themselves.

Afterwards, neither would remember how long they stood there in the rain, only that it seemed like an eternity. It was an eternity they wished would never end.

But end it did, and as the sky began to lighten with the coming dawn, they parted ways. With their masks firmly in place and their hearts maybe a little more tender than usual, they made their way back into reality. Alone, and knowing that they would never speak of the night in the rain to anyone.

* * *

_He is the one they call the savior;_

_he is the one who will end it all_

_With his heart of gold_

_and his sword so brave, _

_he will save them._

_But they don't know that_

_in the dark of night, he cries_

_He can't save them; he can't even save himself._

_He is all alone, but they don't know that._

_His friends stand by his side, ready to fight,_

_but he is alone._

_He must save them._

_With his heart of gold_

_and his sword so brave_

_and his tears in the night_

_and his lonely self,_

_He will save them. _

_He must save them._

_He doesn't want to save them._

_But he will save them._

* * *

Influences: My Chemical Romance and Staind

This chapter was originally not supposed to end like this, in fact, the entire last two pages were added on when I realized I wasn't happy with my first ending. This ending fits much better, even though I know it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Believe me when I say that I didn't mean to add another song into the story, but it just fit so well that I had to use it. It's another song by 30 Seconds to Mars (of course!) and I love it almost as much as the one I used earlier in the story.

So, they've acknowledged their mutual attraction, but no slash and they've basically decided that they can't act upon that attraction. Sorry to all you people craving action, but this had to happen. Every step forward always involves some sort of step backward. Next chapter will be more promising, I swear!

Did you enjoy the longer chapter, especially after the short one last chapter?

The poem featured in this chapter is an original work, so don't steal it.

I attempted to write a professional-sounding letter from the hospital to Draco, but I know there were aspects that a real letter wouldn't have, such as Narcissa's suicide note, but I needed to add that in to give more background on the situation. And yes, I know letters are not usually sent at night, but if Draco gave the hospital an order to notify him immediately of any incidents with Narcissa, a nighttime letter would be perfectly normal. I would also like to apologize for the poor job I did at writing Narcissa's suicide note. I've never written one, nor have seen a real one, so I just made up what I thought could work. I hope it was at least a little bit believable.

Well, this is all I have to say about this chapter. Thank you for all of the encouraging reviews I've received thus far! They really make my day brighter! So, please review this one, too.

Have a great day,

Roslyn.


	7. The Way I Stay Alive

Warning: Themes of angst, moderate slash, swearing, suicide (minor character)

Pairing: The only pairing I ever do, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A few sub-pairings of Ron/Hermione, attempted Ginny/Harry (and by attempted, I mean _only attempted_)

Summary: Harry finds a spell that will allow him to have one day with no consequences because no one will remember it, including him. But things happen that he could never have predicted. Does he really want to forget after all is said and done? HPDM, 6th, no HBP

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc. I do own the poetry featured here, though.

**One Perfect Something**

**The Way I Stay Alive**

_October 22 . . ._

Come Monday morning, the Slytherin Prince and the Gryffindor Golden Boy had so totally retreated behind their masks that anyone, even Albus Dumbledore, would have thought that this was their true personality. They had used Sunday to their advantage, working on their masks like a sword smith with a masterpiece sword, ironing out any kinks and hardening it into the hardest metal it could be. There were no cracks, no lines, and no seams. They were perfect.

And both boys cried out from behind their perfect masks, their emotions raw and wild. But because their eyes were blank and their lips curled into a smile/sneer, as depending on which boy it was, no one noticed. No one had any idea that they were dying a bit inside.

_Hide behind that empty face_

Outwardly, Draco embraced his role as the Slytherin Prince with a totality that left even the hardest Slytherin stunned. Before, once accomplishing his goal of humiliating someone, he would walk away. Now, he kept at his cruel words until that person was a hysteric puddle of tears. Twelve students had already been sent to Madame Pomfrey in hysterics, fearing for their sanity or their lives.

He did it to combat the emptiness inside of him that threatened to swallow him with each breath he took. For years, people had thought he was an evil bastard. Now, he decided to show them that they had been wrong. Before had merely been playing around. Now he meant business.

As usual, everyone expected Harry to object to Malfoy's insane rampage. They weren't disappointed. By lunch on Monday, there had been three fights between the Slytherin and Gryffindor. Malfoy had started all of them, so of course, no blame was placed on the Golden Boy. And golden Harry was; he smiled and joked around and made the school as brighter place.

He wanted to die with every forced smile he made to please them.

The fights were the only thing he looked forward to. As before that night in the rain, he relished every angry word they exchanged, every hex they hurled, every punch they threw. Behind his seamless mask, he grinned for real and felt actual pleasure and satisfaction curl through him.

He denied that he got any sexual satisfaction out of these fights because he adamantly refused to acknowledge that their mutual attraction was real. Desire glittered in the depths of each of their eyes, seen by only the two of them, but they denied that it existed even as it thrilled them.

Each knew they had to be perfect. Desire for one's enemy, no matter if they weren't _truly_ enemies anymore, did not fit into that perfection. And thus, the desire, even as it raged through both of them, growing harder every time their paths crossed, was denied.

_It's a perfect denial_

Harry allowed only one thing to mar his perfect act as the Golden Boy, and that was in his dress. It was the one issue he wasn't willing to concede on. And luckily for him, this little rebellion was ignored. The other Gryffindors thought his style was a little odd, and the colors more suited to a Slytherin, but they allowed it. It was merely clothing, and since he was smiling and acting the perfect Gryffindor, they could let it go.

Malfoy's choice of clothing, however, which was similar to Harry's, was considered perfectly in character for the Slytherin Prince. His multitude of shirts with mocking phrases, all in dark colors, his many expensive jeans and black or gray trousers, and his skater shoes all fit in with the troublemaker image. **(1) **

The first class the two pretenders shared on Monday was Advanced Charms. It was a class they knew they could get away with another fight in. Professor Flitwick was a very nice man, and a very _short,_ nice man at that. He often had problems keeping his students under control on a good day. On Slytherin/Gryffindor days? He basically told them the assignment and retreated to his desk in the corner of the room, taking away points only when things got so bad that he felt had had to do _something_

At this lovely time of day, for it was nice outside, Draco was breaking up inside for the fourth time that day. It may have been beautiful outside, but inside, it was raining with a fury that matched that night in the courtyard. When his silver eyes caught Potter's green, he saw that he wasn't alone in his torment. The strain of keeping their masks perfect was terrible, worse than it had ever been. They did not quite know why it was suddenly so much more painful to hide behind their masks, but they did know that it was now truly killing them inside.

The charm they were to work on was some charm that worked much like _Wingardium Leviosa_, except it caused a conscious human to levitate. When Flitwick told his students to get into groups of two to safely practice the charm, Draco and Harry turned to catch each others' eye across the classroom. They discreetly nodded, and that agreement made their pain abate a tiny bit.

_Cuz this is just a game_

Draco suddenly opened his mouth and, his eyes glinting like steel, he sneered, "Hey Pot-head, want to bet that Longbottom manages to levitate Finnigan into the wall?" Neville and Seamus had just agreed to be partners, as Dean was in the infirmary after an incident with a trick step after lunch.

Harry pretended to become angry by this comment, and rose to defend his hapless friend. "Malfoy, shut up! Neville may be a little clumsy, but he'd never do something that stupid!"

The gathered Gryffindors gathered in affirmation, although inwardly, they thought Malfoy was right. Even Neville knew it was highly possible that he would do something wrong when he attempted to levitate his Irish friend.

"Oh really, Potter? Longbottom is a squib who's worse with magic than Filch."

Harry had to work hard to suppress the snort of laughter that arose at that comment. No one was worse than Filch, who was the worst squib of them all. "Malfoy, that's bullshit and you know it! How do I know _you_ won't levitate your partner into a wall first?"

At that insult, Malfoy's eyes flared. Most thought it was anger, but it was actually satisfaction that Potter had spouted a good insult. But to keep with his painful charade, he flicked his wand and shouted, "_Corpus Leviosa_!"

Harry was suddenly rising into the air, and as his friends gasped in horror, began to rise at a goodly speed towards the ceiling. Harry's eyes narrowed and he pulled out his own wand. He quickly shouted the same spell towards an unsuspecting Malfoy. The blond-haired Slytherin soon began his own ascent towards the ceiling.

This was when Professor Flitwick attempted to interrupt, with, "While your wandwork is perfect, I must ask you to halt this nonsense!"

As usual, the tiny man was ignored. He retreated back to his desk, taking off five points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor.

Draco swished his wand and Harry went flying into the wall behind him, his back hitting the stone with a crack. The impact sounded worse than it actually was. In retaliation, he sent Malfoy into a quick spin that caused his backside to crash into the ceiling. The Slytherin's silver eyes narrowed and he made his rival go flying across the room into the opposite wall. Harry's hands, which had stopped the collision from being worse, were scraped up and bleeding. He scowled and took up his wand again. Draco was flung into the floor and then back up to the ceiling. He had a scrape on his forehead and his hands were bleeding, as well. He then lifted his wand just as Harry did, and they somehow ended up crashing into each other.

Their wands fell.

Draco's hands grasped Potter's open robe, ripping at the black fabric. Harry grabbed the neck of the blond's shirt and pulled, hard. The crimson shirt tore, causing a rip that spread down to almost the hem. Even as they fell to the unforgiving floor below, Draco furiously ripped Harry's own shirt, causing scratches from his nails to appear on the Gryffindor's chest. Then they hit the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

"Potter, get off me!" Draco snarled, kicking at the raven-haired boy. His kicks were for real. The pretend fight had escalated into a real one, and he needed to hurt the other boy. He needed to make him feel pain, and feel pain in return. He needed to keep the emptiness at bay.

_A quiet desperation's building higher_

Harry gripped Malfoy's shoulders and slammed his head into the ground. "I'm trying! That fucking hurt!" His emerald eyes blazed with fury as he immersed himself in their fight. It had stopped being fake long ago and now all he wanted to do was hurt Malfoy and be hurt in return until they looked like how he felt inside; ripped up, bruised beyond recognition, and bleeding so red that the world was a dark crimson that spread and spread and spread . . .

"I meant it to! Now move!" He shoved at him, causing Harry to fly off and land against the wood legs of a desk. The legs broke and the desk toppled onto him. His shout of pain made the gathered students, conveniently frozen, wince. Groaning at the sudden, new pains in his body, Harry looked up and saw his wand lying not two feet away. Ignoring his body's protests at the abrupt movement, he lunged for the stick of polished wood. He flicked it and sent Malfoy flying into his own desk, which broke just like Harry's had.

_So beautiful, so beautiful_

Seeing Malfoy lying there, amidst the wreckage of the desk he broke, his clothes torn and dirty, his skin bruised and bloodied, made Harry want to crawl over there and take him furiously, passionately.

Instead, he got to his feet, slowly, and limped out of the classroom. His hands were trembling, from pain, the others thought, but Harry knew it was from suppressing the desire that suddenly ravaged his senses. He had liked seeing Malfoy like that, liked it a bit too much. It wasn't the state he was in, Harry knew, but the fact that he had done it and that Malfoy had done the same to him. They had made each other hurt. They had made each other alive.

They had made each other alive.

_I've got to remember this is just a game_

And he wanted to cry because he knew this feeling of being alive wouldn't last. Once Madame Pomfrey fixed him up, he would be sent back to the real world. He didn't want to go back. He didn't know where this desperation came from, but he suddenly realized he did not want to go back. He _needed_ to not go back.

He changed his course from where he had been heading towards the infirmary, to go to the library. He ignored the shocked looks he received at his battered state, instead walking purposefully towards the back corner where Braden Conlan's portrait hung.

For the first time in weeks, Braden was occupying his portrait, and Harry grimly went to stand in front of it. He saw the way Braden's eyes widened at seeing him so torn up, both inside and outside. And he liked the way Braden's eyes dimmed at seeing him this way.

The portrait immediately murmured, "You were in a fight."

"Thank you for stating the obvious. It was Malfoy," Harry sneered, crossing his arms. His mask came crashing down and he let his true personality out. He couldn't help it. Besides, it didn't matter if Braden saw it. He already knew that the Golden Boy wasn't real.

Braden nodded, sighing. He had figured as much. Only they had the ability to make the other feel something besides the emptiness that roared within them.

Harry looked at Braden and suddenly he remembered speaking the words to page 54. But where and when, he didn't know. All he knew was that he _had_ cast the spell and that something important had happened. But what? What could have happened that made this tiny thread of peace coil through him?

He suddenly felt pain worse than he had been feeling since that night in the rain course through him. Something had happened, something that had made him feel happy for the first time since Sirius' death, and he couldn't remember. He couldn't remember the happiness . . . he couldn't remember being happy.

But he had been happy.

And he wanted to die, because he couldn't remember it. He sunk to his knees, he head cradled in his hands. What had he done? He had forgotten the only happiness he'd felt in so long, and willingly. Why? Why had he cast that stupid spell? Why had he forgotten?

A sound from behind him knocked him out of his thoughts and he turned to see Malfoy standing there. He hadn't gone to the infirmary either. The blond was staring at him, his fists clenched. "I saw you that day."

And Harry knew he had heard him say that before. A shard of pain shot through him, because he did not remember where or why he had said it the first time.

He didn't respond, but instead turned to Braden. "I forgot."

Braden's eyes were world-weary, and Draco felt his heart still. As enigmatic as Potter's words were, they struck a chord inside of him. He had forgotten, too. He didn't know what, but he knew that he had forgotten. And it hurt like hell.

The portrait took in both of their expressions and sighed, sadly. "Of course you did. No matter what happens during that twenty-four hours, it will be forgotten. It is the power of the spell."

Harry took a sudden step towards the portrait, his first raised. "Well, I don't want it to be forgotten! Something happened that day that I need to remember! And I can't, and it's killing me! I need to remember!"

Braden's eyes slid away from his to look out into the distance. "The spell of forgetting can only be enacted by a great desire, and it is thus with its opposite. If the desire is great enough, anything forgotten can be remembered."

"And my desire is great enough, but I still can't remember!" Harry replied to his words.

"Then your desire is not great enough. I can see it well. You still fear to be without those masks you treasure beyond anything else. And as long as you hold that fear, you cannot remember what it like to be free. You cannot fear happiness or else you'll never feel happiness."

Draco scoffed at Conlan's pretty speech. "Pretty words, but you're wrong. My mask is the only way I stay alive."

"Then why are you dying?" the portrait asked, his eyes cool. He sympathized with the two boys, but their stubbornness was trying. Why could they not see the truth?

The Slytherin Prince looked away, a flush on his cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. You hide behind that mask so deeply that you can't see anything."

Braden's eyes caught Harry's while he said this, making the Gryffindor know that he was talking about him, as well. Harry narrowed his eyes. "You're wrong."

The portrait's eyes flared. "Oh, am I? Then why are you standing here with the results of your fight showing prominently? You had that fight to try and feel alive, but it's not working."

"Stop it! You're just a portrait! You don't know anything!" Draco shouted, hating that he was right. His thrill from the fight had faded within minutes of Potter leaving the Charms classroom.

"And this is why you can't remember," Braden continued, his violet eyes solemn.

Harry was the one to yell, this time. "Stop it! Just stop it! You're wrong!"

But Braden had left his portrait; the frame was empty, as if it had never been inhabited. This incensed Harry, and he kicked the nearest chair as hard as he could. Then, like a few days ago, he sank into the offended chair. This time, though, Malfoy wasn't stalking away. Instead, he slumped into the chair next to his, his face curiously blank.

"Potter, I can't do this. I thought I could, made myself believe it was necessary, but I can't. He's right. It's killing me."

Harry looked into his rival's silver eyes and saw the defeat lurking there. "Then don't. But I have to, even if it kills me."

"Why? Why sacrifice yourself for them?"

Harry stood and gazed down at him. "Because being their savior is who I am. It's all I have left."

"No, it isn't!" Draco rose to his feet, as well. Anger pulsed in him and his eyes glittered intensely.

"Yes, it is, and don't think you can convince me of otherwise. I'm dead! There is no way to change that! I can't be fixed!"

He turned to walk away, but Malfoy's hand was suddenly gripping his arm and he couldn't move. "Well, maybe I like you broken," the blond-haired boy whispered.

Harry froze at Draco's words. They slammed into his heart like a freight train and he suddenly couldn't breathe. "Don't."

"Don't what? Tell you the truth? I always tell you the truth, no matter how much you hate it."

The Gryffindor ripped his arm away, shouting, "Don't! Just don't!"

Draco lunged at him, knocking him to the library floor. He straddled his hips and pinned his arms above his head, gazing intently at him. "Why? What are you so afraid of?"

"You're the one that told me displays of emotion are weak!" Harry blurted out in his panicked anger.

A frown caused Draco's brows to furrow. "I never told you that."

"Yes, you did! You . . ." and suddenly Harry couldn't remember what else Draco had told him. With a start, he realized that he had remembered something from that day.

"I what?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"I can't remember," Harry whispered, shutting his eyes. Although he couldn't remember that day, he knew for a fact that their argument today had their roles reversed. He knew instinctually that on the day they couldn't remember, it had been he who was trying to convince Draco that emotions were okay. But why would he do that? And why was it now Draco that was trying to convince _him_ of it?

Draco didn't know what was going through Potter's head, but was suddenly uncomfortable from his position on top of him. A thread had desire had been building within him for a while, and now it was a raging fire. He shifted, attempting to keep Potter from noticing that he was now hard. It wasn't appropriate for their conversation.

Unfortunately, the other boy did notice. His eyes flew open and he gasped as he felt Draco's erection pressing against his stomach. Feeling that hardness made his own desire rise to the surface, unbidden. He abruptly had the feeling that they had been in a similar position before, and the previous time had ended very pleasurably for both of them. Attempting to erase that thought, he struggled against Malfoy's hold on his wrists. His hips shifted as he did, and his newly risen erection ended up pressing against Malfoy's buttocks. They both shuddered at the contact, and suddenly, Malfoy's head was lowering towards Harry. His lips were inches away, and Harry stared at them, mesmerized. His brain told him that he should really be moving away, but his thought processes were swiftly halted as those petal-soft lips touched his.

Both boys moaning softly at that gentle touch, and all of a sudden, their mouths were working furiously against each other's. Any hesitation was wiped away as Draco's entire body lowered until they were pressed against each other, their chests, bare because of the tattered state of their shirts, touching. Heat raced through them, and both were instantly aware that they had done this before. They had kissed, and they had pressed together, and they had done so much more.

And they knew it had been heaven.

They pulled apart to stare at each other, their cheeks flushed and their eyes glittering with desire. Harry groaned, "I shouldn't be doing this." Draco licked his lips and rolled his hips just enough to make the Gryffindor gasp in pleasure. "I know. But you're not going to stop."

Harry shook his head. Why would he want to stop? He knew he shouldn't be doing it, but he couldn't exactly remember _why_ he shouldn't be doing it, so there was no way in hell he was going to stop. He pushed Malfoy off him and got to his feet, grabbing the other boy's arm as he did. Single-mindedly, he dragged the not-unwilling Slytherin with him out of the library and through the corridors of the school until they reached the Room of Requirement.

Hazy memories drifted through both their minds as they imagined what kind of room they wanted, and when they opened the door, a spacious bedroom appeared. A few torches dimly lit the room draped in gleaming black silk, and a large pool of crystal clear, steaming water graced the corner. The bed in the center of the room was king-sized, covered with dark green, silk sheets. The carpet was plush silver, and their feet sank into the soft threads as they made their way to the bed.

Harry's robe was the first to fall, the remnants of his shirt with it. Porcelain white hands, covered in scratches that should have been stinging the owner, caressed the muscled chest that was revealed. Holding back a moan, Harry's own banged up hands removed Draco's robe and shirt and began touching the smooth, muscled skin reverently.

Draco pushed Harry onto the bed and once again straddled the Gryffindor's hips. This time, though, he sat a little lower, and their erections brushed through the fabric of their trousers and boxers. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to Harry's, their moans of pleasure mingling as their tongues twined.

Their pants did not stay on long, and neither did their shoes, socks, or boxers. Soon, they were as nude as the day they were born, and they were moving against each other in an age-old rhythm. They hadn't made the decision as to who was going to enter the other, yet, but they were getting there. With every movement of their hips, their hard lengths brushed and soon, their skin was glistening with the sheen of sweat.

Harry's lips left Draco's, and he went to work nibbling at his graceful neck. Alternately licking, biting, and sucking, he forced sounds from Draco's throat that made him grow even harder. He was surprised when one of Draco's hands gripped his erection, causing him to bite down, hard, on his neck. Draco cried out, arching his back. It wasn't a cry of pain, but one of pleasure. And he knew he'd heard him cry out just like that before.

He rolled them over so that he was on top. Then he proceeded to turn the silver-eyed boy onto his stomach. Draco immediately protested, "I'm not being bot – "

His words trailed off as he felt something hard and long thrust into him. At first, it was painful, and then suddenly he was feeling more pleasure than he had every felt. Almost instantly, he forgot that he hadn't wanted to be the one on bottom and began moving with every thrust that Harry was making. A hazy memory rose to the surface of his mind, and he suddenly remembered being topped by Harry before. He grunted in surprise as the pleasure of the memory, and the reality, overwhelmed his senses. _Oh, dear Merlin . . . _

Influences: The Scorpion King Soundtrack, Bon Jovi, and 30 Seconds To Mars (yes, a very eclectic mix this time)

Oh my, I did not mean to go that far into slash territory. Oops. Well, what's done is done, and it works beautifully.

This chapter took almost 5 hours to write. I had a lot of trouble with trying to find the proper direction for the story to go in, and it was hard to write the interaction between Harry, Draco, and Braden. Luckily, it didn't turn out too bad. And I now know that Chapter Eight _will_ be the final chapter, so only one more to go!

**(1) **No, this is not my personal opinion. Skater/punk clothes does not equal troublemakers, but I do know that many people think this way. From my experience, I've seen that people will more often than not lay the blame of any mischief on a "skater kid" than someone wearing Abercrombie and Fitch clothes. I think it's stupid to assume that someone who prefers band t-shirts, baggy jeans and skater shoes is obviously a troublemaker. I dress like that and I don't get into any trouble. So yeah, don't be offended by that comment!

Yet again, I thank everyone who has reviewed my story! I try to reply to a few people every chapter, but don't get offended if I don't. I don't have enough time to thank everyone personally. So here's a general thanks! Thanks! grin

Have a great day!

Roslyn.


	8. This Is Me

Warning: Themes of angst, moderate slash, swearing, suicide (minor character)

Pairing: The only pairing I ever do, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. A few sub-pairings of Ron/Hermione, attempted Ginny/Harry (and by attempted, I mean _only attempted_)

Summary: Harry finds a spell that will allow him to have one day with no consequences because no one will remember it, including him. But things happen that he could never have predicted. Does he really want to forget after all is said and done? HPDM, 6th, no HBP

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc. I do own the poetry featured here, though.

* * *

**One Perfect Something**

**This Is Me**

Hours later, when the clock struck one am, Harry woke up to find himself tangled in silken sheets with another's arms wrapped loosely around his waist. He turned his head and saw Malfoy's silvery-blond locks spread out across the pillow and trailing onto Harry's own shoulder. The strands were baby-soft, and appeared as if to be spun from the light of the moon. He shuddered, closing his emerald eyes against the sight: the emotion it called forth was primal and filled to the brim with feeling.

The feeling beating most strongly in his breast was that of the traitor, _love_. He wanted to crush it until there was nothing left but dust. Love did not belong in a world such as his – a cruel world of pain and despair, with death riding the heels of his bloodthirsty minions.

He, Harry Potter, did not love. Not anymore.

Draco shifted, his long hair sliding across Harry's collarbone. His arms moved from where they had been enfolding his lover's waist, to sleepily caress his chest. Harry looked, but the blond was still fast asleep.

And even asleep, his touch enflamed the raven-haired boy. Harry shivered, turning away to face the wall. Still, drowsy fingers ran lightly across smooth skin covering steely muscles.

If only his heart were as steely.

Clenching his fists, the Gryffindor slipped out of the luxurious bed and padded across the room to the steaming pool in the corner. Silently, he slid into the hot water and sighed. The love play he had participated in only hours ago had left signs on his young body. Scratches marred his back and chest, and his muscles had been well-used, so much as to ache and protest at too much movement. He couldn't remember ever feeling like this.

No, that wasn't true. A half-hazy memory drifted through his mind and he knew that this had only been a repeat. He and Draco had made love before, and it had been just as good. Just as heavenly.

He wanted to Obliviate himself. He couldn't be allowed to know any bit of heaven. Heaven was denied him; hell was his only refuge. Why couldn't Draco see that?

Closing his verdant eyes, Harry sunk under the surface of the water, but that only made him sink deeper into his thoughts. With the pressure of the water pressing against his ears, he lost himself inside his head.

Memories of how they had spent the last hours assaulted him and he knew he could not deny that he had enjoyed it. And he also knew that it was not only bodily that he had enjoyed it. They had had sex, true, but it hadn't been merely that. They had bonded to each other, giving up the entirety of themselves in a connection of understanding and companionship. The resulting feeling was enough to bring tears to Harry's tightly shut eyes.

If he was honest with himself . . .he knew that Draco's arms was the one place he had ever felt like he belonged.

And he wanted to rip out his heart and throw it away because how could the Boy-Who-Lived be with the son of a Death Eater? The world wouldn't care that Draco wanted nothing to do with Voldemort. The world would only look at them with fear and mistrust and say that the Malfoy heir had turned Harry dark and that the end of the world was at hand.

His chest burning with this utter certainty, Harry burst through the surface of the pool, gasping for air. Water slid down his face, and not all of it was fresh water. He clenched his hands into fists and pounded his right one against the tile of the floor next to the pool. The tile cracked and red seeped from brand new cuts on his already damaged hand.

Softly spoken words carried to his ears then, and he turned to see Malfoy sitting on the floor near him, his arms wrapped around his knees. "I remember we were happy."

Harry's breath stuttered. It wasn't only he that remembered that. But still . . . it made no difference. They had been happy, but it had to have been a false happy as they had both known that they would not remember that day. Because if Harry was completely frank, he knew that if they weren't who they were and didn't have the expectations heaped on them as they did, they could be happy together. It was entirely possible.

Yet not in reality. In reality they were who they were and did have the expectations they did.

Malfoy's voice assailed his ears again. "You were the one convincing me that emotions weren't weak. You were the one making me see that us being together wasn't wrong."

Harry turned his brilliant green eyes to lock with Draco's molten silver ones. "I was wrong."

The other boy shook his head, a slight frown furrowing his brow. "No. You weren't. You were being smart for perhaps the first time in your life."

Harry ignored the slight insult in his words, instead focusing on what he really meant. "I wasn't. I was lying to myself. And to you. How the fuck could you and I have a life together? Let's be honest here. I'm fucking Harry Potter, Boy Wonder, and you're Draco fucking Malfoy, son of the devil's right hand. I hate you."

Draco's eyes flashed, but his lips turned up in a secretive smirk. "Ah, really? _Until the truth becomes a lie_. And that once-truth is now a golden-coated lie."

In response, Harry turned his head away. His profile, tense and unyielding, stated that he did not want to listen to anymore. Draco merely opened his mouth again. "_Until you change, until you deny, until you believe. _I changed, Potter. I threw away all of my old beliefs, no matter that I still hide behind the mask of believing them. I denied. I denied my father and the Dark Mark. The day of my father's sentencing, I spit in Lucius' face and told him to rot in hell. And Voldemort? Let's just say that I'm apparently very high up on his hit list. And I guess the most changed thing is the fact that I, for the first time in my life, believe in the very things that for years I was taught to avoid and crush. Love. Hope. Happiness. Weakness. I am not who you thought . . . who you still in that dense head of yours _think_ I still am."

Harry absorbed what he was saying, frowning. "Then why the hell do you still need to hide under your mask? You're free, then."

The silvery-haired Slytherin merely shook his head, an eyebrow raised in disdain. "I may not be a Death Eater, but I am a Malfoy. And not only that, but I am the Slytherin Prince, the highest ranking Slytherin. You Gryffindors may be blind to it, but Slytherin exists based on a delicate hierarchy. In 4th year, I became the Slytherin leader and with that duty comes great responsibility. I must remain infallible. If I show the least bit of weakness, all of the Slytherins who follow me, _me_ and_ my beliefs_, will denounce me. House war will erupt, and the Slytherin House will be torn apart. I refuse to let that happen, but while I have that responsibility on my shoulders, I'm still willing to have a relationship with you."

"But I'm not!" Harry shouted, his eyes blazing. "Don't you see what would happen if the world saw us together? They would crucify us!"

Draco snorted, his eyes narrowed. He scoffed, "And you care so much for appearances, don't you…Golden Boy? Why? All this "world" of yours does is put you on a fucking pedestal and heap more and more bloody ridiculous expectations on you. And you let them. You fucking let them turn you into their whipping boy. Why? Don't you have any pride?"

Harry leapt out of the pool, stalking towards the opposite wall. His back unyielding and his voice tense, he growled, "Pride? My pride is the only thing keeping me alive. But I am their savior. It is my duty. If I were to appear weak, they would lose all hope. I am their only hope against Voldemort! Without me, they will die."

"Oh, don't even give me that bullshit. So what if you're the only one who can kill him? Big fucking deal. Don't be a martyr. It doesn't suit you," Draco sneered.

The Gryffindor whirled around to face him, his jaw tight. With water droplets glistening on his muscled skin, he strode towards the blond. "You don't have the right to tell me jack shit, Malfoy."

Draco's face twisted into a mockery of a smile. "Oh really? I'm the only one who doesn't treat you like a toy soldier. I'm the only one who fucking understands you. So you know what? I think that gives me some right."

Harry's brilliant emerald eyes flashed and he grabbed his clothes furiously. Roughly, he pulled his boxers and trousers on, leaving the pants unbuttoned as he searched for his t-shirt. Then he remembered that the shirt was in tatters anyways and wouldn't be of much use. He swore.

Draco stared at him, his silver eyes burning into Harry with an intensity that the raven-haired boy could feel. His next words stunned the Gryffindor. "Do you hate me that much that you can't countenance being with me?"

Shock raced through Harry and he turned to gaze at the frowning Slytherin, wide-eyed. Hate him? It was the _lack_ of hate that was causing him so much turmoil inside! He clenched his fists and shut his eyes. His chest burned and his heart pounded furiously. Hate? Not hate. Never hate. "Hate? You think it's hate that's the problem?"

"What else is it if it's not that? I'm willing to risk everything to be with you, and you're just throwing it back in my face! You know what, Potter? You only care about yourself! Did you know that? You're such a fucking hypocrite, it makes me sick!"

Harry grabbed Draco by the arms and shoved him against the wall. Pressing closely, his breath ghosting against the Slytherin's face, he snarled, "I don't hate you. I love you, and that's the problem! Because love doesn't fix anything! Love does nothing! It only hurts and makes you bleed and kills you!"

Draco's lips twisted into a bitter grimace, almost resembling a smile. "Love? You, the great Harry Potter, you don't love. Because if you truly loved, you'd know that it is enough. It saves you."

"Saves? Hah. It kills, Malfoy. It kills."

The silver-eyed young man wrenched himself from Harry's grasp, his eyes blazing a molten color. His voice hoarse, he shouted, "Then what about the Weasley's? Your parents? Granger and Weasley? Bill and Fleur?"

"You forget, my parent died!"

"But they loved! They loved each other, and they loved you, and they died knowing they'd loved and that they'd saved you!"

Draco's words slammed into Harry's head and he shut his eyes, falling to his knees. He was right. He was_ right._

Shaking his head, Harry whispered, "But how could it be enough for me? Love can't save me from Voldemort, from my destiny."

Warm arms surrounded him and he fell back into Draco's gentle embrace. Lips pressed to his temple, before they opened to murmur, "But it can keep you going when you feel like all hope is gone. Love can comfort you when you just want to give up. Love can keep you alive, keep you feeling when you can't feel anything else."

Calmness spread through the savior of the wizarding world and he sighed. "When did you become so wise?"

Lips quickly pressed against his cheek, sliding to touch his lips, before lifting just enough for the Slytherin to say, "I stole it from you."

Harry chuckled softly. "Oh really? Can I have it back?"

"Someday…maybe. I kind of like it."

They sat there for several minutes, just reveling in the newfound peace their acceptance of their love gave them. Then, thoughts began swirling through Harry's head and he frowned. What Draco had told him about the Slytherin House troubled him. Gryffindor House had a similar hierarchy, but it wasn't as rigid as Draco made his House's to be.

"Draco, Gryffindors have a hierarchy too. Is yours so different? Because in ours, while the leader must be strong, House war wouldn't break out if that leader were seen to do something out of character," he said, worrying his lip.

Draco sighed, shifting so that they were facing each other. His eyes were shadowed as he searched for the easiest way to explain things. "I've observed your House's hierarchy, and I know that you're the leader. Your hierarchy works in that it has a leader, a second-in-command, third-in-command, and Enforcers who look after the weaker members of the House."

Harry nodded, not very much surprised that Draco knew so much about his House, even though he knew almost next to nothing about Slytherin House. "Yes. Are you saying yours is different?"

The silver-eyed boy nodded, running his fingers lightly across Harry's right hand absent-mindedly. "Like you, We have a leader, his second-in-command, and his third-in-command. We also have Enforcers, like you, but then the rest of the House is divided into alphas and subs. Our subs are protected by the alphas, but must strictly follow the rules or else be punished or left unprotected. It's a harsh system, but one that prepares Slytherins for the real world."

The other boy frowned, his brows furrowing in thought. "Ours is still very similar Draco. Our subs must follow the rules as well."

"But is your leader given basically absolute power? No. You may rule over everyone else, but you still look to your second and third for advisement. I do not. They are there to keep me in line and pass on my orders, not to help me be leader. If they saw weakness in me, my second in command would immediately challenge me to a duel in order to take over my position, as I would be considered unworthy."

"You would win, though," Harry protested, tangling his fingers with Draco's.

The Slytherin sighed, running his free hand through his silky hair. "Yes, but my weakness would be visible to the entire House, and the House would divide into those allied with me, and those allied with my second. Chaos would break out, Slytherin House would weaken, and the subs would be caught in the crossfire."

Finally understanding, Harry let out a breath. "So loving me would be seen as weak?"

Draco nodded, his eyes dimmed. "Yes. Love is not an emotion most Slytherins understand. It is seen as fallibility. They understand things like money, status, and power."

Silence fell between the two, until Harry suddenly grinned. "Then what if we present our relationship as an alliance? The teachers have been attempting to promote House unity for ages, and both of our Houses, while they might not be keen on the idea of uniting, would definitely understand the power advantages. Your House does follow your views on the war, do they not?"

"I spent the entire beginning of the school year persuading them. They follow me absolutely."

Harry's mind whirled with the implications of the entire Slytherin House denouncing Voldemort. That had to be a great loss to him, as he would have no new recruits from those powerful pureblooded families. "Then your House would have to see that by allying themselves with Gryffindor, they would have a stronger advantage against Voldemort."

Draco leaned into the Gryffindor, placing a quick kiss on his lips. "Brilliant! I'm amazed I didn't think of that. They'll definitely understand the power angle."

Jade eyes glittering, Harry smirked. "Let's just say I'm a genius. And since I'm such a genius, I think we should work on solidifying this alliance of ours."

His lover ran his tongue across his teeth, a little grin curling the edges of his rosebud-shaped lips. "Oh really? And how would you like to go about doing that?"

Harry pulled him closer, his warm breath fanning Draco's face. "I have some ideas." And with that, he pressed a full-mouthed kiss against his gorgeous lips.

* * *

The next day rolled around all too quickly, and both boys immediately got to work on making the alliance a reality. At breakfast, Harry walked over to the Gryffindor table and before sitting down, leant down between Ron and Hermione, whispering, "House meeting at 7 o'clock. Mandatory for all."

His second and third-in commands swung their heads to look at him, perplexed. Full House meeting? There hadn't been one since the previous June, before the Department of Mysteries. Wondering at what could be so important as to warrant such a meeting, they nodded. Ron patted his best friend on the shoulder, grinning. "I'll get the word around, don't you worry about that, mate!"

Harry smiled back at him, approval shining in his emerald eyes. "Good. Glad I can count on you."

Hermione quirked her lips at the light tone in his voice. "You sound happy, Harry. While I'm glad you're feeling better, what's got you all lit up?"

He moved away, sliding onto the bench beside her. "Oh, you'll find out at the meeting, 'Mione."

With that, he started piling food onto his plate. The conversation dismissed, Hermione was left to gaze at her friend in puzzlement. A burning curiosity burned through her and suddenly she couldn't wait for the meeting that night. It had to be something big for Harry to be acting so normal again, especially after his outburst with Malfoy in Charms the day before. And his explosion at Malfoy on Saturday.

Meanwhile, over at the Slytherin table, Draco was sitting in his usual seat. A cold smirk was settled on his aristocratic features as he watched the happenings over at the Gryffindor table. Things were going to plan. Now only for his part of things. He turned his head to his second-in-command, his eyes as cold as ice.

Blaise Zabini looked up from his eggs, feeling the gaze of his Prince on him. "Yes?" he questioned.

"There will be a full House meeting tonight at 7 o'clock," Draco commanded, his long, slender fingers playing with his fork almost absent-mindedly.

Pansy Parkinson, sitting on Draco's left side, raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "A full meeting? May I ask what the occasion is?"

His third-in-command, she wondered at what the reason could be for the Slytherin Prince to call for another full meeting and the school year not half over. The first one had been eventful as it were, so what changes would be brought about with this one?

The silver-eyed leader elegantly speared a sausage with his fork as he answered her, "I'm not one to ruin surprises, darling Pansy."

Her brows furrowed into a frown. She knew not to press him, but her mind worked furiously as she attempted to figure out what could be so important as to call a full meeting over it. She also wondered at the delightfully icy smirk gracing Draco's features. He seemed almost…excited?

Classes went by fast, and amazingly enough, there were no altercations between the Slytherin Prince and Gryffindor's Golden Boy. It puzzled both of the proud Houses, but they let the matter drift off to the back corners of their minds as they pondered over each's respective House meetings that night.

At seven o'clock sharp, Harry strolled into the Gryffindor common room to find his entire House assembled in the spacious area. He smiled, nodding in satisfaction. Promptness was something he admired greatly, and expected of his Housemates.

Clasping his hands behind him, he made his way to the dais Hermione had conjured for the meeting. Gracefully, he sat down on the plush armchair that was highest. In similar, yet more simplistic versions of his chair, Hermione and Ron sat on either side.

Harry smiled at each of them and then turned to face the crowd of people. He cleared his throat, praying that things would go well. He knew they would follow him in the end, but how hard would that struggle to get them to be? "Gryffindors, I welcome you to this meeting, and I hope you all listen with receptive ears."

Slight frowns curved many students' lips as they wondered what they would need to be so receptive about. They were soon to find out.

"I have called you here tonight because last night I have entered into an alliance that will change Gryffindor House permanently."

He stopped speaking then, letting his Housemates absorb what he had just said. Almost immediately, shocked whispers broke out. From beside Harry, Hermione hissed, "What do you mean, "an alliance that will change Gryffindor House permanently?" And why in the blazes didn't you consult us first!"

Harry gazed at her, his eyebrow raised. "While it may be my common practice to talk things over with you first, it is not required that I do so."

He then turned back to face the crowd of Gryffindors, and spoke again, "I have entered into an alliance that will change the shape of the war against the Death Eaters. It is an alliance that brings great power. It is an alliance with Slytherin."

Horror spread across the students assembled in the common room, and Ginny Weasley burst out, "Are you out of your mind? They would never ally themselves with us!"

Harry rose to his feet and his look quelled the red-haired girl. "Last night, Draco Malfoy agreed to ally his House with ours against Voldemort. Even now, he is holding a meeting just like this one to tell his people of the alliance."

"He is lying! He would never denounce the Death Eaters,mate! It's a trap!" Ron burst out.

Brilliant emerald eyes narrowed. Both Weasleys doubting him? "Do you think me daft, Ron? I know lying when I see it, and in this, Draco Malfoy is sincere. The whole of Slytherin House is against Voldemort because of him! With Slytherins' help, we have a real chance at winning!"

Hermione spoke up then, her voice soft and yet very controlled. "Just yesterday you both hated each other. What has changed?"

There was no condemnation in her voice, only puzzlement, and Harry's anger drained away. "I accepted that my hate was not merely hate, but love."

Gasps broke out and Hermione stared at him, her brown eyes searching. "You love him? After what he has done to you? What pain Slytherin House has caused Gryffindor House?"

Harry nodded, crossing his arms. "Yes. But don't think we made this alliance because of our love. We made it because it will be advantageous to both our Houses. We are the two greatest Houses at this school. We are the most powerful, the best. Together we can do anything."

She considered his words for a moment before standing and walking over to him. A smile curved her generous lips and she stated so that the entire House could hear, "Then I am with you." And in a whisper that only he could hear, she told him, "Don't you know that I always am?"

Harry grinned, and turned to face his other best friend. Ron was staring at him, frowning and looking almost lost in thought. "You love him?"

The leader of Gryffindor bent his head in affirmation, and Ron sighed. "I can't understand your reason for loving the ferret, but I also can't deny that an alliance with Slytherin would benefit us greatly. I'm with you."

Happiness thrummed through Harry and his brilliant emerald eyes twinkled. When he turned to face the crowd of Gryffindors, he was met by cries of encouragement and agreement. They were with him. His House was with him.

While the scene in Gryffindor was playing out, another one was going on down in the dungeons. The whole of Slytherin House was assembled in their common room, and Draco sat on his own dais. His seat was an actual throne, made of the purest silver and obsidian. It was gorgeous, and as old as Hogwarts itself.

A sliver of apprehension ran through Draco as he wondered what his House's reaction was going to be, but he hid it beneath his usual icy exterior. Standing, he motioned for his Housemates to quiet, and then he began. "I have called you here tonight to tell you of an alliance I have made that will bring Slytherin House great power and strength. Last night, I met with the leader of Gryffindor House, and we forged an alliance between us."

Furious whispering broke out as the assembled students tried to absorb what their leader was telling him. An alliance with Gryffindor?

Pansy Parkinson stared at her Prince in astonishment. Of all the reasons for calling a full meeting, this was something she could never have predicted. An alliance with the lions? Was he out of his mind?

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, what is the meaning of this?" she hissed in an undertone at him. He turned his head to gaze at her, an eyebrow raised imperiously. "What is the meaning of this, dear Pansy? Well, I think it's perfectly clear. I have made an alliance with Potter, and his lions."

A lazy voice drawled from the chair to the right of the throne, where Blaise Zabini sat slouched. "I think what she means to ask is why you have done this. It's terribly shocking, don't you know?"

Draco shrugged negligently. "Personally I don't care if you think it's shocking. I have done it, and you will follow me."

Blaise rolled his eyes, "Of course I will follow you. You've never led us astray before. But you must admit that your motivation is unclear."

The Slytherin Prince's next words were heard by all of Slytherin House. "I have no need to explain myself, and my actions, and yet I will do so in order to prevent your gossiping tongues from coming up with nonsense. I have made an alliance with Potter, and the Gryffindors not only because it is an advantageous match, bringing power and strength, but also because I am currently involved in my own alliance with Potter."

The implications of that statement stunned the gathered students. Pansy was the first to speak. "You and Potter?"

He curved his lips into a mocking smirk, "Yes, me and Potter."

Blaise halted any retort Pansy may have made. "I guess I didn't see that one coming. But I must admit, he _is _quite the catch. Powerful, handsome, and he just so happens to be the savior of the wizarding world. By tying yourself with him, and by extension, all of Slytherin, the taint that the Dark Lord has brought to our House will be washed away. Clever of you, Dray."

Draco was suddenly glad that Blaise so easily saw the advantages of the match. Ever the cunning Slytherin, the caramel-eyed Italian could've been a formidable opponent had he objected. Now there was only Pansy, and then the rest of Slytherin House should follow. He turned to face the blonde-haired girl and tilted his head at her. She sighed, and nodded. "I guess I can't deny the positives, even though I wonder at your tastes in men."

That statement caused a smile to curve Draco's lips, and he chucked. "Ah, just admit it. He _is _particularly stunning and you know it."

She narrowed her eyes and tossed her hair behind her shoulder, "I will admit no such thing." But to belie her words, she was fighting a smile.

Suddenly clapping was heard, and the three sixth years on the dais turned to see the whole of Slytherin House on their feet, showing their approval. The alliance was accepted.

The two Houses decided to make a grand entrance the next morning, and so before breakfast, they met in the corridor outside the Great Hall. With Draco leading the Slytherins and Harry leading the Gryffindors, they came to a head at the ornate doors. Molten silver eyes gazed at brilliant emerald for several moments before Harry's lips curved into a smile. Draco's soon did the same.

Gracefully, Draco walked the few steps separating him from his lover, and he leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Ready to create a riot?"

Harry's hand suddenly snaked up to curl around the back of Draco's neck, and he pulled him in for a quick kiss that sent pleasure arcing through their bodies. "Of course," he murmured.

They broke apart and let their eyes wander over the crowd of Slytherins and Gryffindors assembled around them. Many looked surprised, some indifferent, and more than a few almost hopeful. Blaise and Hermione looked pleased, and Ron and Pansy looked contemplatively at the two boys who looked at peace for once in their lives.

Both leaders turned their gazes back to each other and shrugged in tandem. It was a start. Harry leaned close to Draco again and yet again whispered in his ear. This time his words sent happiness soaring through the blond. "Did you know that I love you?"

Draco had to use all of his mighty Slytherin control to not turn into a puddle of mush. "Oh really? That's good, because I love you too."

Harry had no such compunction about turning into a puddle of mush and proceeded to do so. A full-blown grin transformed his features and his eyes positively sparkled. At this point in time, Draco lost his internal battle and let his own smile take over his usually-icy features.

Happiness poured through the both of them, as did love and peace, and a thousand other emotions they had never thought possible to feel. And it was at that exact moment that their memories of that single, fateful night filled them. Electricity pulsed through them, and they stared at each other, wide eyed.

They remembered.

And they loved even more.

_This is my chance,_

_I want it_

* * *

A/N: Wow, sorry it took me so long to update this story. I had such huge writers' block for months that whatever I wrote turned out like crap. I finally got myself to finish this today because I was sick and had to miss classes.

I would like to apologize if this chapter seems a bit odd, as I added a whole thing about House hierarchy, but I thought it fit and helped explain things. It could also be a basis if I decided to write an epilogue or sequel, which I might. I don't know yet.

Thank you to all of my faithful reviewers throughout this long story, and the long wait between the previous update and this one. I hope you enjoyed this final installment as much as the previous ones, and I would love if you'd tell me what you think about the ending, and the story overall. Love it? Hate it? Etc.

As this story is over, you can find more lovely Harry/Draco goodness in my other stories, plus on my favorite stories list, which is near to 150.

Music influence: **Three Days Grace **--** One-X**, **Senses Fail**, **30 Seconds to Mars **– **Beautiful Lie**

Much love,

Roslyn Drycof.


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